


Kiss & Tell

by SummerFrost



Series: Love or Sympathy [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Accidental Outing, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Awkward Sexual Situations, BDSM, Begging, Coming Out, Family Issues, Homophobia, Light Verbal Humiliation, M/M, Overstimulation, Phone Sex, Polyamory Negotiations, Premature Ejaculation, Punishment, Secrets, Threesome - M/M/M, Trust Issues, Vulnerability, but also like?, so uhhh do with that what you will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-02-29 07:11:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18773782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerFrost/pseuds/SummerFrost
Summary: Bitty and Kent got back together, and Kent and Jack made their apologies. If life were a movie, it would have ended there.





	Kiss & Tell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FestiveFerret](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FestiveFerret/gifts), [ashes0909](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashes0909/gifts).



> Ohhhhh my god, this fic is an incredibly long-awaited sequel that I wasn't quite sure would ever happen, even though I've been thinking about it since the first fic [_(Loose Lips Sink Ships)_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8434879) was even published. We have FestiveFerret and ashes0909 to thank for this, because they made an incredibly generous donation to the Fandom Trumps Hate auction! I hope y'all enjoy it <3
> 
> Super big thanks to blithelybonny, soundslikepenance, and shipped-goldstandard, who all beta'd this fic and held my hand the entire time lol. Shipped-goldstandard also made [an amazing playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2FJj8CDwCKKh72M0Cqwnp6) for the fic, which I listen to all the time and weep about.
> 
> Title from XO by Fall Out Boy <3

Bitty is minding his own business to the backdrop of an early-April rain, pretending to do homework next to Dex while actually playing footsie with Jack under the kitchen table, when Ransom and Holster barge in and do a pathetic job of looking casual about it. They’re leaned up against the counter, Holster with his elbow resting on Ransom’s shoulder for some reason, and wait over a full minute before speaking. Bitty counts.

“So, uh—” Ransom begins, but he seems to lose his nerve and starts over. “Um, Bitty? This is like, kind of awkward, but a bro’s gotta call a bro out sometimes if he’s uh, not—if he’s—”

“We know you’re cheating on Parse!” Holster blurts.

Jack startles and kicks Bitty in the shin. Dex coughs and fixes his eyes on his laptop. Bitty splutters, “Um, wh-what are y’all—I’m not?”

“Bits,” Ransom sighs, “Our beds are  _ right there  _ above yours. We can hear you. Which like, would be fine if it wasn’t, uh, like this.”

Bitty blanches. Jack’s somehow turned both pale and red at the same time and is staring at the tablecloth. 

“How much did you hear?” Bitty asks quietly. He can feel Jack trembling from where their feet are still touching under the table.

**_Bitty (9:02 pm):_ ** _ Everything’s fine but I might need to call you for that talk _

**_Kenny (9:03 pm):_ ** _ [thumbs up emoji] _

Holster clears his throat. “I mean we can’t tell what you’re saying, but—enough.”

Except they haven’t mentioned Jack, which Bitty prays means they didn’t recognize his voice, and Bitty is suddenly very thankful that he uses so many pet names in bed. Small blessings, but blessings nonetheless. “Then why do you think I wasn’t Skyping Kent?”

He locks eyes with Jack across the table, who shakes his head minutely.

**_Bitty (9:05 pm):_ ** _ Don’t mention Jack _

Ransom looks like he’s slipping into coral reef mode and Holster has never looked this uncomfortable as long as Bitty’s known him. He rubs his temple and explains, “We’ve uh, I mean, we can hear that too? And it’s not—just, like, be fucking straight with us okay?” 

He winces at his choice of words, as if  _ that’s  _ the problem here. Bitty kind of wants to laugh.

And it’s not like Bitty didn’t  _ know  _ this would probably happen eventually—it's a crowded house and they were trying to keep some  _ ambitiously _ athletic sex a secret. It’s just that he was kind of hoping he’d keep his privacy for more than two weeks. 

Bitty sighs, says, “I’m not cheating on Kent,” and holds up his hand when Holster opens his mouth to argue. “He knows about it.”

The gears start to turn as Bitty watches, and Ransom asks, “Um, like…what?”

“It’s called polyamory. I would’ve thought y’all’d’ve heard this from Shitty by now.” Bitty is met with uneasy stares, so he continues, “I have two boyfriends. Kent, and the boy—and  _ no,  _ I’m not tellin’ you who he is—the boy you heard in my room.”

Holster takes off his glasses and cleans them on his shirt. “Um. Not to be a dick, but, why?”

Bitty rubs at his face, painfully aware of Jack right across from him. “Because I—because I care about both of them? Because they both make me happy? And honestly, the rest is none of your business.” 

They both stare at him blankly. Bitty isn’t really ashamed, per se, but he also very much wants this conversation to be over.

No such luck. Ransom presses, “So...they both know about each other?”

“Oh my God,  _ yes.”  _ Bitty sighs and pulls out his phone. “Look, if I call Kent up and have him tell you himself will y’all just leave me be afterwards?” 

Rans and Holster exchange one of those telepathic glances Bitty’s never achieved with anyone in his life and then nod. 

“Great. I think he’s done with practice by now.”

Kent, of course, picks up on the second ring. “Hey babe. What’s up?”

“Hi, honey. Can I put you on speakerphone with some of the boys?”

“Uh, sure.”

Bitty clicks on the speakerphone and sets his cell down on the table. “So, Rans and Holster would appreciate it if you could explain the…nature of our relationship a little.”

Kent snickers. “The part where we fuck other people or the part where we get off on it?”

Dex chuckles lightly under his breath; it’s the first sound he’s made since the conversation started. 

The tension in the room has mostly dissipated, save for the way Jack still won’t look at anyone, even Bitty. He's fidgeting like he's glued to his chair and trying to be anywhere but here but can't manage it. Bitty tries to soothe him by running a foot up and down his calf.

“Bro, thank God.” Ransom sighs with relief. “We thought we were gonna have to stage an intervention.”

Holster adds, “We haven’t had a good one of those since Shitty’s boxers-when-parents-visit intervention last fall.”

Kent laughs. “Well, thanks for the concern I guess? So like, can I go, or—?”

Another telepathic look. 

Holster speaks up. “Actually, bro, we have another problem you could help us with.” His grin is entirely discouraging. Bitty balks. “Bits here has left us woefully lacking when it comes to deets.”

“Aww, baby,” Kent says, “you don't brag about me? I worked so hard yes—”

“Bittle doesn't want to talk about it,” Jack cuts in suddenly, voice terse.

Holster rolls his eyes. “Projection, much? Bitty can speak for himself, Jack.”

“Um,” says Bitty.

“See?” Holster says. “It's fine. So, Parse, when you say you get  _ off  _ on it.”

_ “Bro,”  _ Parse answers, slipping seamlessly into that cocky voice he always uses when he's calling a bluff. “You know how fucking hot it is to get someone's sloppy seconds? It's like that all the  _ time— _ except I'm the chick and Eric's—”

Jack slams his hands on the table and hisses, “Why are you so obsessed with this?” at Ransom and Holster as he stands up.

He storms out without any of his stuff, leaving Bitty gaping at him with a hand outstretched. 

“Yikes,” says Ransom.

Dex pushes his laptop half-shut. “Uh, should I leave too?”

“Only if you've got a stick up your ass like our beloved captain,” Holster snarks.

Dex says, “I was asking Bitty.”

Bitty is already gathering up Jack's things. He shoves his cellphone off his notebook and scoops up his homework too. “Kent can entertain y'all however he wants. I'll be back.”

“Dude, idk what's up with Jack,” Ransom says, “but it's  _ so  _ not your job to figure it out.”

Bitty ignores him.

Kent says, “Babe—”

“It's fine,” Bitty says briskly, already halfway out of the room. “It'll be fine.”

He doesn't hear the details of whatever mild argument breaks out in his wake, too busy bracing himself for whatever is waiting for him upstairs.

It was about time for something to go to hell around here.

Jack is in his room, sitting glumly on the edge of his bed and staring at something on his phone. Bitty shuts the door behind himself and sits down next to him, reaching over to rest a hand on Jack's forearm.

Jack tugs his arm away.

“You wanna tell me what that was about?” Bitty asks softly.

“I just.” Jack sighs. He frowns down at his phone. “I don't understand why Parse—why  _ you  _ go along with that.”

Bitty pulls his feet up onto the bed. “Um, I don't…?”

“It's obnoxious,” Jack says, clearly agitated, flipping his phone around in his hands. “The way he feeds into it. And you just—just let them—fetishize you like—”

“That's not what they're  _ doing,”  _ Bitty insists. 

Or...hopes, maybe.

Jack scoffs.

Bitty squishes his face between his knees, staring at the old wooden floors, and wills his skin to stop crawling. “I think of it like the older brothers I've never had? I'm not—it doesn't bother me, honest.”

“Okay,” says Jack.

Bitty bites his bottom lip and asks, “Um, is it really...just Rans and Holster bein’ obnoxious?”

“No, I told you. It's Parse. I hate—” Jack fumbles his phone and it clatters to the floor. “Hearing him talk like that.”

Bitty grabs the phone and hands it back. “Like what?”

“Like you're—like you're a prize he won.”

Bitty laughs without meaning to. “Kent treats himself like the prize.”

“Fine,” Jack says. “Like he's a prize and you've, uh. Like you own him and he's on display.”

“Because you're jealous?” Bitty asks.

“Because if I could make you happy without him I would,” Jack says, and Bitty's heart doesn't have time to stop. “But I can't.”

Bitty says, “You said—”

“I know.” Jack turns, finally grabbing Bitty's hand. He stares at it, his thumb tracing over the knuckles while he measures out the words. “And it's...the difference. Between wanting something and understanding how it is.”

Bitty watches the way Jack touches him.

“I meant that I want you to be happy. I'm not taking that back.”

Bitty nods. He twists his fingers, cupping Jack's hand to squeeze it in comfort. “Sweetheart. I'm not...half-happy with you. I'm all the way happy.”

“That doesn't mean I'm not jealous,” Jack says. He squeezes Bitty's hand back and offers a tiny smile. “It's, uh. Harder than I thought. But I'm...adapting.”

Bitty smiles back, lightening his tone. “You just don't wanna hear exaggerated accounts of the way I'm fucking my other man?”

Jack laughs. “Not, uh, in particular, no.”

“That's perfectly fine by me.” Bitty scoots closer, so their thighs touch. He rests his head tentatively on Jack's shoulder. “Plenty else to talk about 'round here.”

Jack turns his head to press a kiss to Bitty's temple. “Okay.”

Bitty closes his eyes and breathes for a moment. He needs to get his phone back from the boys, and probably reassure Parse that everything's okay.

“I guess it's...weird. Thinking about being around him,” Jack admits. “In New York...it felt. Like he was the person I remembered. But tonight—”

“Kent's adapting too, you know,” Bitty reminds him softly. “It’s a game he's playing, differently than you. That person showboating down there—it's a performance.”

Jack says, “I don't know what's underneath anymore.”

_ Me neither,  _ Bitty thinks, tastes the horror on the back of his teeth right after. He clenches his fingers around Jack's hand and says briskly, “Someone I love.”

“Yeah,” says Jack.

Bitty clears his throat. “But you could—um, you could get to know him again, you know. If you…talked?”

Jack hums. “I've thought about it. I'm just…”

“Scared?” Bitty ventures.

“Yes.” Jack lets go of Bitty's hand to slip an arm around his waist instead.

Bitty kisses the edge of his shoulder. “Maybe it would help? With the jealousy, I mean. If y'all were...friends again, maybe?”

“Maybe,” Jack allows. He rubs a thumb along Bitty's hip bone. “I miss him, sometimes.”

Bitty laughs quietly. “Lord, you have no idea how much it'd mean to him to hear that.”

Jack doesn't answer except to hold Bitty almost imperceptibly closer, their bodies melding together. His breathing is slower; Bitty hadn't realized it was fast. 

They sit like that for a few moments, until the restlessness kicks in and his mind wanders back to Kent. Who he should probably rescue from downstairs.

“I'm gonna—” Bitty jerks his thumb towards the door, slipping to his feet. Jack catches him by the waist and tugs him back in for a kiss—which he happily obliges. “You silly man.”

Jack pecks him on the lips again. “See you tonight?”

“Don't get washed off the roof,” Bitty chirps. He steals a third kiss for good measure. “Or just  come through the door?”

“Maybe,” Jack says, but they both know he won't. 

In Bitty's humble opinion, getting caught walking into Bitty's room at an odd time is absolutely not that weird, and absolutely no one in this godforsaken house would assume they were boning, but maybe that's just Kent's bravado rubbing off on him.

 

~*~

 

“No, yeah, totally take the roof,” Kent says later that night. 

Bitty very nearly hangs up on him.

 

~*~

 

Jack crawls through Bitty's window around midnight, his hair lightly dampened by the rain. Bitty towels him off and draws him into his arms under the covers, his heart fluttering at the way their bodies fit together, how Jack can feel so small when his face is tucked under Bitty's chin.

“I think I'm going to do what you said,” Jack whispers. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” Bitty kisses his forehead. “Of course you are.”

Jack just huffs out a laugh.

 

~*~

 

“So, today in ‘weird fucking shit,’” Kent says the next afternoon. “Jack texted me.”

“Oh,” Bitty asks, biting back a smile, “really?”

Kent has his laptop propped up on the bed while he changes into sweatpants for his pre-game nap. Bitty is planning on joining him, curled up under the covers with Señor Bun tucked under his arm.

“Yeah.” Kent climbs into his bed and pulls the computer onto his lap. “I just—fuck. He wants to be, like, friends again, and it should be what I want but—”

“It isn't enough?” Bitty guesses.

“No, fuck that, I'm so fucking scared I won't be able to handle it.”

_ Me too.  _ But Bitty stares at Kent's face on the screen—his disastrous cowlick and the sweet earnestness in his eyes, the suggestion of freckles under the pixelation. His heart breaks at the thought of admitting to that face that he lacks faith.

“You are the most amazing, wonderful man I know, and you've been working so hard at this,” Bitty says, his voice cracking over the truth and then going steady. “You can handle it.”

 

~*~

 

Bitty is sitting cross-legged in bed, scrolling through Twitter, when Jack braces himself in the doorway and says, “Hey, Bittle. Congrats on finishing the paper. Can I, uh, take you to dinner? To celebrate.”

“Oh, gosh!” Bitty says. He puts a hand to his chest and beams at him. “Jack, that's so sweet.”

Jack smiles at the floor, hair flopping in his face.

Bitty glances at his closed computer and bites his lip. “But I, um, I have Skype plans with Kent tonight? Do you think maybe we could go tomorrow?”

“Oh.” Jack rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, I've got a meeting with a GM tomorrow, so.”

Bitty fidgets with his phone. “Oh, um, sorry? I mean, not sorry that you have a meeting, gosh that's exciting, but, um—”

“Bittle, it's okay. We can go some other time,” Jack interrupts gently, but his eyes are doing that droopy, sad-puppy routine that always makes Bitty want to set whatever made him sad on fire. 

Not a particularly adaptive response, in this case.

Bitty gets off the bed and goes to Jack, pulling the door shut behind him and then standing on his toes to kiss his cheek. He wraps his arms around his neck and murmurs, “Thank you, sweetheart. I really am sorry, it's just—”

“Don't,” Jack says. He squeezes Bitty's hip and then pulls away, his hand already on the doorknob. “It's okay.”

He slips out into the hallway and then back into his room. He doesn't tell Bitty to have a nice time with Kent, which Bitty certainly won't let bother him. Really.

Bitty sighs, closing and locking his door, then sits cross-legged on his bed again and opens up his laptop. It's a little earlier than he'd told Kent he'd call, but his skin itches and there's nothing else to do for it.

“Hey,” Kent answers right away. It looks like he's on mobile, propping the phone up on his kitchen counter. “We said eight your time, right? Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Bitty says. He watches his own smile on the screen. “Guess who finished his term paper a whole three hours before the deadline!”

Kent pokes his head back into frame to wave excitedly at him, then vanishes off-screen again. “That's awesome, babe! Doing anything to celebrate?”

“You,” says Bitty.

Kent cackles. “Still wanna watch the movie first?”

“Of course,” Bitty tells him. He closes his eyes and smiles at the butterflies in his stomach. “I love spendin’ time with you.”

“Aww, gross,” Kent answers fondly. 

Bitty asks, “Did you pick a movie?”

“Mhm,” Kent hums. He comes back into the frame, flicking water off his hands before grabbing a hand towel. “You ever seen  _ Goon?” _

Bitty wriggles under the comforter and leans back against the pillows. “Mm, nope, I don't think so?”

“It's a hockey movie and it's, like, hella low-key queer,” Kent says, smirking. “There's a ton of fighting, though.”

“Hot,” Bitty says.

“Obviously.” Kent grabs his phone and walks into his living room, flopping onto the couch. 

Bitty reaches over and tugs Señor Bun under his arm. “You wanna queue it up?”

“Yeah, lemme switch to my laptop.” 

Kent hangs up for a second and calls him back, laughing softly when he sees Bitty snuggled up with Bun. “Jesus, you're so fucking cute.”

Bitty blushes, hiding his face against Bun's ears. “You charmer.”

“Hey, scale of one to ten,” Kent says softly, like he doesn't already know the answer, “how much do you love me?”

“Nine,” Bitty answers. He slips further under the covers and kisses Bun on the cheek in proxy. “I love you so much, sweetheart.”

Kent shrugs noncommittally, like  _ what can you do?  _

Bitty asks, “You?”

“Twelve,” Kent answers, easy smirk and easier eyes, without hesitation. Like he's been thinking about it all day.

Bitty can't help but beam at him and chirp, “That's not how numbers work, you big dummy.”

“That's how I feel about you,” Kent says. His voice feels so familiar that it almost hurts. Bitty's known him less than a year. 

Bitty slides his fingers over the keys of his computer, fighting the sudden urge to press them all at once to have somewhere to put everything under his skin. There's a flash of fear that he can't name and the soft, steady ache of a thing so good he'd choke on it if he could. 

“Babe?” Kent asks.

Bitty blinks and clears his throat. “Sorry, um, I just—sorry.”

“Tongue-tied?” Kent teases. “You're losing your touch, babe.”

“I am  _ absolutely  _ not!” Bitty huffs. He crosses his arms playfully. “Just set up the movie, Parson.”

“Yessir,” Kent says, and does.

 

~*~

 

Jack says, “I love you,” on a Thursday morning, his hair flopping in his face and the sun shining through the window, so much bare skin glittering with sweat between them as he rubs off on Bitty's abs.

Bitty comes so hard that he almost forgets to say it back.

 

~*~

 

Bitty hurries over to his and Jack’s usual table at Annie’s, halfway through an apology for being late when he sees that Jack already has both their drinks and is still typing on his phone—and blushing something furious. 

“Hi, honey.” Bitty takes his seat and teases, “Who’re you textin’ that's got you that shade of pink?”

Jack looks up with a half-smile. “Parse, actually. Is that weird?”

Bitty laughs, shaking his head fondly. “I’m the one who said y'all should talk more.”

“Uh.” Jack's phone buzzes again—he glances down at it and turns three shades darker. “Yes.”

Bitty pushes half out of his seat, curiosity bubbling over. “What’re y’all talkin’ about, anyway?”

“Ah, you?” Jack fiddles with his phone. “Sex. With you.”

_ Oh _ . Well, maybe that’s a little weird. But it’s the good kind of weird, the kind that makes Bitty stroll over to Jack’s side of the table with a casualness he certainly does not feel and ask, “Is it okay if I see?” 

He leans down, careful not to seem overly-familiar (Lord, they are in public, after all), and Jack hands his phone over, busying himself with his coffee. Naturally, Kent had started it.

**_Kenny (11:53 am):_ ** _ Yeah he’s really great _

**_Kenny (11:53 am):_ ** _ And so fukcing good in bed tho like fuck _

**_Kenny (11:53 am):_ ** _ Like I literally saw god once zimms. God. _

**_Jack (11:57 am):_ ** _ I know. I heard you, in March. _

**_Kenny (11:57 am):_ ** _ Fucj sorry if that was weird _

**_Kenny (11:57 am):_ ** _ …but I kinda wanted you to hear _

**_Jack (11:59 am):_ ** _ It wasn’t that weird. _

**_Jack (12:00 pm):_ ** _ Uh. Actually, no, it was. But I liked hearing. _

**_Kenny (12:00 pm):_ ** _ Really?? Thought ud be mad. _

**_Jack (12:01 pm):_ ** _ I was. But I liked it too. _

**_Jack (12:01 pm):_ ** _ I was mad that I liked it but I’m not anymore. _

**_Kenny (12:02 pm):_ ** _ Fuck did _

**_Kenny (12:02 pm):_ ** _ Did u jerk off 2 it _

**_Jack (12:05 pm):_ ** _ Yeah. _

**_Kenny (12:05 pm):_ ** _ Fukihng Christ _

**_Kenny (12:05 pm):_ ** _ Zimms _

**_Jack (12:06 pm):_ ** _ I think about it sometimes, when I’m with him. _

**_Kenny (12:06 pm):_ ** _ Fuck _

**_Jack (12:06 pm):_ ** _ He ties me up. Did he do that to you? _

**_Kenny (12:07 pm):_ ** _ Fuck u always look so good tied up zimms _

**_Kenny (12:07 pm):_ ** _ He tied me 2 the headboard and fucked me so hard it almost broke _

Bitty’s jeans are getting tight. He feels light-headed, bracing himself on Jack’s chair. 

“Oh my God,” he giggles, “my boyfriends are sexting.”

Jack is still blushing, staring at the phone. “Ah, we’re what?”

Bitty rolls his eyes and leans in a little closer to murmur, “Are you horny right now, baby?”

“Yeah.” Jack looks around the coffee shop and subtly adjusts the growing bulge in his shorts.

Bitty whispers, “Then you’re going to go home, and I’m going to drink my coffee. And I want you to be wet and open for me by the time I get back, sweetheart.” 

Jack shivers and nods obediently. 

Bitty gently curls Jack’s hand around the phone again. “Do you think you can keep texting Kent while you do that for me, honey?”

“Um, yeah.” Jack swallows. “I think so.”

Bitty makes a pleased hum in the back of his throat. He’s about to thrum out of his skin, but he manages to keep his voice under control. “You’re such a good boy, honey. Go get started.”

Jack doesn’t bolt out of the café, as much as he looks like he wants to. He manages to look mostly normal as he leaves—but Bitty’s nearly positive he breaks into a jog once he turns the corner towards the Haus. 

Bitty doesn’t actually drink much of his coffee because he’s pretty sure the caffeine might make his heart give out at this point. But he waits fifteen minutes before walking back home. 

He finds Jack spread out belly-down on his bed, squirming against two of his own fingers with his phone in his free hand, typing something meticulously.

“You’re so beautiful, Jack,” Bitty whispers, transfixed in the doorway. 

Jack drops his phone to press a pillow against his face and whimper. 

Bitty shakes free of his awe and locks the door behind him, walking over to card his fingers through Jack’s hair. Jack is still fingering himself slowly, humping gently against the mattress. 

“Honey,” Bitty says, and his tone makes Jack look up at him, “how would you feel if I called Kent and let him listen to us?”

“I’d—I’d like that a lot,” Jack answers breathlessly. 

Bitty slips out of his shirt with a smile, and Kent answers on the first ring. 

“Hey, babe.” His voice is quiet, like he’s out somewhere.

“Hi, honey. Where are you?” Bitty thumbs open his jeans one-handed and starts to slip them down his thighs. Jack watches attentively.

“Uh, just got out of a PR meeting.”

_ This boy. _ Bitty laughs, “Lord, seriously? You were—nevermind, I—” Bitty pauses and directs to Jack, phone tilted away from his mouth, “Keep touching yourself, honey.”

“Christ, are you with Zimms?” Kent breathes into the receiver, voice quivering.

“Yes, honey,” Bitty purrs. “And I have something I want you to do for me.”

“Fucking anything.”

Bitty switches the call to speakerphone and tosses it onto the bed, near Jack’s face. He wiggles out of his jeans and palms himself through his boxer-briefs, letting a pause hang through the air before he tells Kent, “I want you to find yourself a nice empty room and lock the door behind you, and I want you to put your hand down your pants and touch yourself.”

Jack gasps into a pillow, hips lifting off the bed and crashing back down. Kent swears and there’s fumbling for about a minute before he says, “Okay, fuck, I found a place.”

“Are you hard already?” Bitty asks. He pulls off his boxer-briefs and strokes his own erection, going to sit near Jack’s thighs on the bed.

“So hard it hurts, babe,” Kent moans, and there’s a faint thump that Bitty imagines is him sliding to the ground.

“Good boy, honey. Do you wanna know what’s going to happen now?” Bitty runs his hands up and down Jack’s legs and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the underside of a knee.

Kent makes a moaning noise that was probably supposed to be a  _ yeah _ and got mangled along the way.

Bitty leans across Jack’s body to grab the lube and condom left out for him near the head of the bed. “Jack is gonna pay you back a favor, honey. He’s gonna let you listen to what it feels like to get fucked by me.”

Both his boys plead after that, Jack with a low whine as he pulls his fingers out of himself at the tap of Bitty’s hand, and Kent with a moan that crackles through the phone speaker. 

“Fucking Christ, please babe.”

Bitty keeps Jack sunk into the mattress, pressing himself over top of him as he slides inside. Jack always leaves himself tighter than when Bitty does it, trembling and pressed so snug around Bitty’s cock that they both sob a little when Bitty bottoms out inside. 

Kent is panting into the phone already, sounding like he won’t last very long. That’s okay, though; Bitty is already fighting not to come as he draws back and fucks in hard, making Jack moan.

“Fuck,” Kent breathes, “how’s he laid out?”

“Face-down,” Bitty answers between gasped breaths. Jack moans again in confirmation—he’s being more vocal than usual, preening for Kent, maybe. “He likes having to—Lord,  _ Jack _ —turn to look at me.”

“And hands—” Jack adds, surprising Bitty, “how your—ah—hands bruise my hips.”

Bitty makes a point of digging his fingers in harder, then, lifting a little so Jack’s ass angles upwards into his thrusts, laughing when Kent whines, “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

Jack keeps talking, like some sort of switch has been flipped. Bitty takes a moment to pray that no one is upstairs in the attic and thrusts harder. “Kenny, he—fills me up so well. I—I—don’t even think—just let—Bitty—oh,  _ tabarnak _ —”

“I bet you look so good Zimms. So pretty for our boy.” Kent’s voice is strained, teetering on the edge of desperate.

“He’s so good, so good honey,” Bitty confirms with a purr.

Jack is nearly there, squirming between Bitty’s hands, his arms stretched above his head. “Want—to be good—I— _ God _ , Bittle—Bitty—I—I’m—”

“No,” Bitty scolds, and smacks Jack’s ass hard, hard enough he’s sure Kent hears, hard like he doesn’t know it only makes Jack come harder with broken sobs into the pillow, wriggling around in his own mess on the sheets. “I wasn’t done, honey,” he tuts, tone just this side of sharp.

Kent swears into the phone and Bitty tells him, “Jack comes untouched for me, sweetheart. Spills all over himself just from my dick inside him. He wants it that badly.”

Jack whimpers and looks up with glassy eyes. Bitty moves to pull out and then snaps his hips forward again instead, biting down hard on his lip from how Jack shudders around him. 

He works back up a rhythm slowly. Jack arches up and Bitty pushes him back down, hand pressed into the small of his back. “Sorry,” Jack whispers, “Bittle, please.”

Kent sounds wrecked. “I—fuck, are you still—”

“Jack knows I’m not done with him,” Bitty drawls, thrusting faster now. He wants to drag this out a little, wants to hover right on the edge as long as he can.

Jack starts to squirm again, little writhing motions that push up against Bitty’s touch. “Bittle, God _ , _ please—so much—stop stop please I—”

“We have— _ fuck _ —have a safeword,” Bitty gasps out, for Kent’s benefit. “Jack likes to beg me. Don’t you, honey?”

Jack just keeps whimpering, “Stop—please—can’t—please—” but he’s humping into the mattress like he’s desperate for the friction there. Bitty throws his head back in a moan.

“Oh my God oh my  _ fucking God  _ Jesus Bits—Zimms—I’m— _ fuck _ —” Kent’s voice cuts off into a throaty moan and Bitty knows he’s coming, pictures him slumped on some conference room floor in the dark, gray eyes squeezed shut and head lolled back.

Bitty comes to Kent’s moan and Jack’s soft  _ please  _ and collapses in a heap, draped over Jack’s sweat-sticky back. “Good Lord,” he sighs, and Kent is laughing his favorite laugh. “You were both so good for me. Such good boys, both of you.”

It’s tempting to stay right there, maybe even doze off against the warm heat of Jack’s body, but Jack is starting to come back to himself so Bitty crawls forward, shucking off the condom and dropping it in the trashcan near the head of the bed, and presses a kiss to Jack’s temple. “You were so good, sweetheart. What do you need now?”

Jack takes a moment to think, nuzzling his nose against Bitty’s cheek. “Shower?”

“Of course, honey.” Bitty smiles, still half lingering in his orgasm haze, and stretches out as he rolls off the bed and to his feet. He takes the phone off speaker and talks to Kent. “Hey, honey. Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“A new shirt,” Kent answers with mock disgust, and Bitty can picture his nose wrinkled and laughs. “But seriously, I’m good. That was—fuck, Bits—but we can talk later. Go take care of Zimms.”

“Okay, honey. I love you.” 

Jack sits up and Bitty takes his hand, tugging them both towards the bathroom.

“Love you too, Bits.”

Kent hangs up and Bitty leaves his phone on the sink, double checking that the door is locked from Shitty’s side before turning on the water. He tests the temperature and pulls Jack in with him, running his hands up and down strong arms, beaming up at Jack’s sheepish smile.

Bitty guides Jack under the spray and asks, “So, um...how was that?”

“Uh.” Jack laughs, tilting his head back and squeezing his eyes shut as the water streams down his face. “Good?”

“Good,” Bitty repeats. He grabs the shampoo and hands it to Jack, taking his place under the water. It feels fucking heavenly. “We just had sex while your ex-boyfriend jerked off to you begging for it, and that's what you're going with?”

Jack says, “Technically, I don't think we ever dated.”

“Oh my God,” says Bitty.

Jack shrugs at him, looking adorably shy about something it would kill Kent to hear.

There's nothing for it, except praying that he never will. 

Bitty takes the shampoo back, massaging some into his scalp, and ventures, “Y'all both seemed pretty into it, at least?”

“Sex wasn't the problem with Kenny.” Jack hesitates, blinking the water out of his eyes. “At least, not like that.”

“Which is why I'm asking if you're okay,” Bitty insists.

Jack turns the water up hotter. “I might panic about it later. Would you prefer if I started now?”

Bitty stares at him. “I suppose not?”

Jack smiles, out of place with the tension the water hasn't boiled out of the rest of his body, and says, “Okay. Can we stay in my room tonight?”

“Sure, honey.” Bitty kisses the side of his mouth, warm from the shower spray. “I love you.”

Jack kisses him back, pruning fingers slipping against his skin. “You too.”

 

~*~

 

Bitty wakes up to Jack kissing along his jaw, faint stubble scraping against his neck. He smiles, running a hand through Jack's hair, and murmurs, “Mornin’, darlin’.”

Jack tilts Bitty's face to kiss his cheek. “Morning.”

It's pretty wonderful to not wake up to an alarm anymore. Bitty looks Jack in the eye, thumbs smoothing over his eyebrows. “Did I miss the panicking?”

“Yes.” Jack smiles shyly, his eyes shifting down, over Bitty's bare chest. “We, um…”

Bitty raises his eyebrows. “You and Kent?”

“After you fell asleep,” Jack says. “He called me.”

“Mr. Zimmermann!” Bitty gasps, putting a scandalized hand to his chest. “Are you having  _ relations  _ with my boyfriend?”

Jack shrugs, that small, hand-in-the-cookie-jar smile still on his face. “In my defense, he's sleeping with mine.”

Bitty smacks him with a playful laugh. “Oh my God, and you're clearly letting him rub off on you.”

“Maybe when he visits.”

“You're ridiculous.” Bitty bites his lip, though, and cups Jack's face with a more serious tone. “So, um, does this mean y'all two are…?”

Jack says, “Uh, I'm not sure. Maybe.”

“Maybe,” Bitty repeats. He clucks his tongue fondly, leaning in to give Jack a kiss. “You ridiculous boy.”

Jack slides a hand down Bitty’s ribs.

 

~*~

 

Bitty drops his bag off in his room; he can hear Jack across the hall, so he heads over—but freezes once he cracks the door open and realizes there are voices. 

Jack is complaining, “You’re always rubbing hockey in my face. It’s exhausting.”

“I’m trying to talk about my  _ life.  _ What kind of shit friend are you if I can’t talk about my fucking life?” Kent snaps, the words crackling through the speakers.

Jack is terse. “You can talk to your boyfriend about it.”

Kent is well beyond terse—he’s practically shouting now, to the point his voice distorts into something barely recognizable and Bitty has to dig his hand into the edge of the doorframe to fight the nausea.  “Don’t fucking bring Eric into this, Jack! This is about  _ your  _ shitty attitude, not him.”

“It’s always about Bittle with you now.”

“Are you—” Kent laughs harshly. “You’re fucking jealous, aren’t you? You know what, maybe you should be, ‘cause we both know he—”

Whatever Kent was about to say is—probably for the better—cut off by Jack audibly slamming his laptop shut. Twenty, maybe thirty seconds later, Bitty’s phone buzzes.

**_Kent (1:35 pm):_ ** _ I fucked up _

Bitty stares at his phone. He looks up and nudges the door open and catches sight of Jack hunched over at his desk. Bitty stares at that, too.

**_Kent (1:37 pm):_ ** _ I don’t know what to do please call me please _

Jack slams his fist on the desk and the whole thing trembles. Bitty’s eyes flick up and down, up and down, and he’s going to chew through his lip but it’s like he can’t control his teeth anymore. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do and he’s always going to be letting someone down, isn’t he? His phone buzzes and buzzes because Kent is calling now and it takes his choice away so he answers, pulling Jack’s door shut carefully and zipping back into his own room.

“Kent?” he answers. “What’s wrong?” 

And Bitty immediately feels sick—sicker—because maybe part of him is betting on the answer being a lie again and it’s a disgusting little test—a private gamble he shouldn’t be petty enough to make.

Kent’s voice cracks over the words. “Bits, I—fuck—I just, I had a fight with Jack and I said some shit, okay? And I’m—I’m so sorry.” 

Bitty’s door is open, so that he can watch for Jack, but there’s no movement from across the hall and what would Bitty do if there was? 

_ Your boyfriend will be available in five to ten minutes. Please hold. _

“Why are you sayin’ that to me instead of to him?”

“I—” and Bitty flinches, because there’s a crash on the other end of the line that sounds like something’s been thrown across the room. “I don’t know if I fucking want to. Fuck.”

This fight wasn’t like the last time. It wasn’t. Bitty’s fingers still itch like he wants to rip open all the medicine cabinets and flush anything pill-shaped down the toilet and he wants to hold Kent until he stops crying and he wants to hang up the phone and throw it out the window.

“Bits? Say—say something please.”

“I don’t—I don’t know what to say, honey. I don’t know how to do this.” Bitty sniffles and Kent curses angrily under his breath.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I just—I needed to tell you because we said not to lie and I can’t let you down again, Eric, I fucking can’t.”

Bitty flops down onto his bed and squeezes his eyes shut. “You aren’t, honey, I promise. How about you just talk to me about what happened and how you feel? I can listen.”

“I feel like everything is my fault. I feel like—like it has to be my fault, because even if Jack started it I’m the one who always makes it worse and it has to be my fault or I can’t stop it from happening again and—” Kent inhales deeply; Bitty pictures him scrubbing a hand over his face. “And it makes no fucking sense but all he wants to do is fuck and I keep thinking about—about being a kid, and knowing every fucking inch of my hometown, and every time I come home there’s more shops with new names and new teenagers on the street corners and it’s not—” 

Kent breaks off again. Bitty wonders if he’s crying, pictures the green in his eyes.

“He’s not mine anymore,” Kent says. “Just some place I used to live.”

Bitty’s eyes are still closed and he can see it: twenty-four year-old Kent Parson chasing phantoms down freshly-paved roads with the same old street names. 

Bitty never put any ghosts down in Madison, and maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s better, if this is the difference.

“You don’t have to want him anymore,” he says gently, opening his eyes to watch the door again.

“I’m still in love with him.”

Bitty draws his knees up to his chest and rests his cheek on them, the phone trapped in between. “How much?”

“I don’t know.” Kent’s voice cracks again. “I don’t know—”

“Bittle?”

Bitty looks wide-eyed at Jack, like he’s caught in some kind of secret. “Jack, I—”

Jack slams Bitty’s door shut.

“Fuck,” Bitty whispers. He scrubs at his face one-handed, cradling his phone in the other. “Sorry, honey, I—”

“Go after him,” Kent says. “I’m the one who—I don’t fucking deser—”

“You listen here,” Bitty soothes fiercely, hands shaking too hard to wipe the tears away or hide the part of him that’s afraid. “You deserve someone on the other end of this phone, loving you back. You’re a good person, Kent.”

Kent says, “Don’t fucking patronize me.”

“Don’t take that tone,” Bitty snaps, then winces. He doesn’t want this to turn into their own fight—wonders what he would hear if it did. What Kent sees in him that he would use. 

Kent doesn’t answer.

Bitty softens his voice, repeating, “You’re a good person. Are you callin’ me a bad judge of character?”

“Pretty much,” Kent says, but all the bite is gone and the thing that’s left is something small and mournful. “I’m not, to Zimms.”

“I’m not him,” Bitty answers simply.

“Yeah,” Kent says. “Thanks for that.”

 

~*~

 

Bitty hangs up with Kent maybe fifteen minutes later and goes looking for Jack. He finds him in the backyard, sitting on the edge of the porch and plucking grass from the ground and scattering it along the concrete.

“Hi,” Bitty says, sitting down next to him.

Jack rips out a little clump of grass and showers it like confetti over Bitty’s thigh.

“Wanna tell me what happened?” Bitty asks.

Jack asks, “Did you hear?”

Bitty looks out over the yard. He can see ghosts in the grass, laughing and kissing to the faintest sound of music. “No,” he says, “I’d just got home when Kent called me.”

“He doesn’t do anything a normal amount,” Jack says, frustrated and somehow entirely devoid of irony. “We’re either happy or he’s setting the entire fucking thing on fire.”

Bitty turns back to him, to the confused pain in his eyes and the way he’s trying to fold his own body into something neat and tidy. He rests his hand on Jack’s knee and whispers, “I know you’re just trying to understand him.”

“The version of him you get,” Jack says. “It’s better.”

“Yeah,” Bitty agrees. He bites his lip and squints up at the sun to find the nerve. “He’s still in love with you.”

Jack says, “I don’t think I ever was,” and Bitty must not wipe the horror off his face fast enough because Jack pulls away from him and begs, “How  _ could  _ I have been, Bittle? I was strung out the entire time I knew him. I barely wanted to be  _ alive.” _

“And he loved you,” Bitty tells him softly.  _ At your lowest. But you couldn’t return the favor. _

Neither could Bitty, when the chips were down. He plucks at his own shoelace, untying it to have something to do with his hands. But he’s atoning for it now.

“I think I could,” Jack says. He returns to the grass, plucking it blade by blade. “Love him. But I can’t find the way.”

Bitty watches the tremor subside in Jack’s hand, and finds that there’s nothing left to say.

 

~*~

 

Bitty wonders (worries, for his and Kent's sanity both) if Jack and Kent will stop talking again after that. He's not sure what he'd do if they did—if there's a version of this where they leave him in the middle, spared from the fallout.

But it doesn't happen. In fact, Jack is happily texting Kent with that trademark single-minded focus of his when he slips out of Bitty's window the following week, which is probably how he somehow ends up forgetting his underwear on Bitty's floor.

Bitty rolls his eyes fondly, muttering  _ this boy  _ under his breath, and grabs the boxer-briefs with full intention of chirping his boyfriend off the roof. He climbs through the window and puts on his most pleasant sing-song voice.

“Oh, sweetheart, did you forget—” Bitty freezes with one foot still dragging against the windowpane and one hand holding Jack's underwear comically aloft, as he makes eye contact with Shitty over Jack's rigid shoulder.

Bitty chucks the underwear back through the window on the off-chance that Shitty will politely unlearn object permanence.

Jack's shirt is on inside-out.

Shitty says, “Well, this explains a fuckbucket of shit.”

“Hi, Shitty!” Bitty says pleasantly. “What's got you up at this hour?”

“I've got three fuckin’ exams today, bro, don't become a senior—it sucks monkey balls,” Shitty answers.  _ “Jack,  _ is this why you banned me from unannounced naked snuggles?”

Jack says, “I wanted to tell you.”

Shitty pulls him into a rather aggressive-looking hug, smashing his face in Jack's neck. 

“What's happening,” Jack asks.

Bitty finishes climbing out of the window and sits down, the shingles scraping against his bare thighs.

Shitty says, “It's okay you didn't, but if I did something—”

“Shits, no,” Jack insists. He tightens his arms around Shitty's back. “You're—I just...I don't know why I wasn't ready.”

Bitty bites at his lip. His heart pangs for Jack, who is so protective of his privacy, but he also...feels a little relieved. Like some of the secret is lifted off his shoulders.

“I'll pretend this never happened,” Shitty offers. “Like, we can  _ Men in Black  _ this shit and never speak of it again, even though for the record I'm  _ so fucking happy  _ for you guys, holy fuck.”

Jack huffs out a laugh. He pulls halfway out of the hug to look at Bitty, moving one arm to drape it around Shitty's shoulder. “I, uh. Don't think that's necessary.”

“I'm fine with whatever you wanna do, sweetheart,” Bitty says gently.

Jack ruffles Shitty's hair. “Just don't tell anyone else, eh?”

“Jack, the light of my fucking  _ life,  _ of course not!” Shitty punches Jack on his other arm. “Can I ask a question, though?”

Jack shrugs. “Uh, sure.”

Shitty looks over at Bitty. “Is this, like, a throuple situation with Parse, or, like, more separate?”

Bitty locks eyes with Jack questioningly, but Jack just answers, “Uh. Not sure.”

“Fair enough,” Shitty says. “Just don't wanna, like, put my foot in my mouth, ya know?”

“Haha,” says Jack. “Yeah.”

It gets uncomfortably quiet, which is particularly unusual for a conversation involving both Shitty and Bitty. 

After a moment, Jack says, “Guess I better, uh. Get those…?”

“Right,” Bitty says briskly. “Just, um, back through…?”

He gets up and ushers Jack through the window first, turning to look at Shitty's face as Jack pulls away.

“Have fun you crazy kids,” Shitty says, waving enthusiastically as he flops down in one of the lawn chairs. “And Jackabelle, I expect naked cuddle privileges to be restored!”

“Sure, Shits.”

Bitty tells Shitty goodbye and shuts the window firmly behind him, turning the lock for good measure. He turns to Jack with a sigh of relief, when—

“Do you think he hates me?” Jack asks.

Bitty just barely avoids laughing with surprise. “What?”

“Fuck.” Jack draws his knees up and puts his head between them. “He probably hates me. He's my best friend and I didn't tell him—oh, God, I didn't even apologize. Do you think he'll tell anyone?”

_ “Jack,”  _ Bitty says. He crawls onto the bed and cards his fingers through Jack's hair soothingly. “Shitty absolutely does not hate you, you silly man. He loves you so much. You heard him.”

Jack shakes his head. “What if he was pretending?”

“Why would he do that?” Bitty asks.

“I don't know.”

“Sweetheart, I'm sorry this happened.” Bitty kisses Jack's temple. “I know you weren't ready...but I  _ promise  _ you that Shitty won't hate you. Lord, he didn't even seem mad.”

Jack doesn't answer, just tucks his head further between his knees.

Bitty sighs. “Why don't you just ask him if he's mad?”

“What if that makes it worse?” Jack mumbles.

Bitty ignores the irritation creeping into Jack's voice. “He's your best friend, Jack. Have a little faith in him.”

Jack doesn't move.

“Okay,” Bitty offers, biting his lip, “how about I talk to him?”

“No.” Jack sighs, running his hands down and back up his shins. “I'll—I'll do it.”

Bitty drags his fingers down the base of Jack's neck and squeezes lightly. “Okay. You wanna go for that run after? I'll meet you downstairs.”

“Ah, sure.” Jack unfolds slowly, cracking his knuckles and then stretching out his shoulders. He winces. “Maybe a short one?”

Bitty agrees and sends him back through the window, once again without his underwear. A lost cause, apparently. He takes a deep breath to recenter himself and then pulls out his phone.

**_Bitty (8:27 AM):_ ** _ Eventful morning over at the Samwell homestead! How're things in your neck of the woods honey? _

**_Kenny (8:28 AM):_ ** _ Does this have anything to do w the dick pic ur bf left on read bc I SWEAR it was solicited _

Bitty laughs, like he was hoping Kent would make him do.

**_Bitty (8:28 AM):_ ** _ Unrelated _

**_Bitty (8:28 AM):_ ** _ How come *I* didn't get a dick pic >:( _

**_Kenny (8:29 AM):_ ** _ Bc u said they were trashy babe _

**_Kenny (8:29 AM):_ ** _ Zimms on the other hand lacks ur refined sensibilities  _

**_Bitty (8:30 AM):_ ** _ Well it's the thought that counts _

Kent immediately sends Bitty a Snapchat of his fucking dick, except that he's used the doodling feature to draw a little smiley face on it and a thought bubble that says Bitty's name inside.

**_Bitty (8:35 AM):_ ** _ I'm breaking up with you _

**_Kenny (8:36 AM):_ ** _ Experience says that's an empty threat [winking kissy face] _

 

~*~

 

It kind of is.

 

~*~

 

Jack walks back into the room from his shower, using his only towel to dry off his hair. He pauses to take in the scene in front of him.

“You know,” he says slowly. Bitty suppresses a giggle. “If you told me my boyfriend and my best friend were in my bed, and one of them was naked…”

Bitty offers, “You'd guess correctly, because you know us and you're painfully used to it?”

“Yes,” Jack answers, a tiny half-smile the only slip on his face. 

Shitty spreads his arms (and thighs, good Lord) and beckons Jack forward. “Jaaaack, accept my snuggles!”

Jack laughs and reaches for a pair of boxers. “I told you, Shits—no naked-on-naked.”

He pulls on the underwear and an old shirt, though, and then bellyflops directly on top of Shitty and initiates a wrestling match for which Bitty politely hops over to the beanbag chair to avoid.

“You monster!” Shitty shouts, laughing and flailing his limbs around to try and escape. “Watch the goods, brah!”

“Then put on some clothes, eh?”

Bitty bites his lip around a smile.

 

~*~

 

“What angle do you want?” Bitty asks as he reaches for the lube.

Kent asks, “Is this one of those things where I've gotta be romantic and pick your face?”

Bitty rolls his eyes and shoves the laptop down the bed. If he shifts it just right and cranes his neck at an odd angle, he can catch sight of Kent's face on the screen as he teases a finger down his balls.

“Fuck, I missed this,” Kent says with a quiet laugh. He sounds half-wrecked already, even though Bitty's barely hard. “It's been a while.”

Bitty frowns thoughtfully, pressing a finger inside himself and leaning his head back. “Has it?”

Kent says, “Since before,” in that voice he gets when he's trying act like it isn't on his mind all that much anymore, and Bitty winces when he tries to slip another finger inside. Maybe it has been a while.

“Well,” Bitty says, back to one finger and toying with himself slowly, his other hand coming to tug on his dick, “enjoy the view, then, baby.”

“D’you do this with Jack?” Kent asks.

Bitty hums. “Hasn't come up.”

“Damn.” Kent laughs. “Kinda a bummer—bet he could fuck you against the wall for _ ever.” _

Bitty presses the small of his back into the mattress. “So could you, honey.”

“Yeah,” Kent agrees, bordering on hazy. 

Bitty quirks his lips, not that gone except for on how good it feels to make Kent sound like that. “You want that, honey? To fuck me?”

“So fucking much,” Kent answers with a sigh. “God, Bits, you've got no idea. I fucking—think about it all the time.”

“Really?” Bitty asks. He fingers himself deeper, pressing his thumb against his perineum and squirming. “Tell me how you want it, baby. You wanna fuck me against the wall?”

Kent makes a shaky sound. “I want—more than anything—fuck, I changed my mind, let me see your face, please—please?”

“Sweet boy,” Bitty says, exasperated, using his clean hand to rearrange. “Really?”

He can see Kent's face too now, the sudden earnestness in his eyes and the hand caressing his dick, and the way his mouth moves when he says, “I think...about taking care of you. About—about making love, I guess.”

“Oh,” Bitty answers, like it's punched out of him. He stops fingering himself, careful to keep the hand out of view. “Sweetheart.”

“I think about, just, fucking you so slowly,” Kent admits breathlessly, “and I'm holding your face and I can feel every fucking inch of—should I stop?”

Bitty sits up a little straighter against the pillows. “Um, no, why would you…?”

“Just the, like, everything about your face?” Kent suggests.

Bitty bites his lip and ignores the pounding feeling that has absolutely no right to be in his chest. “I'm just—trying to picture it, baby. Keep goin’.”

“Okay,” Kent says, and Bitty closes his eyes. “Remember that night, where we both fingered me at the same time?”

_ The night before it all went to hell,  _ Bitty thinks, hating himself for it. But he remembers what it felt like, the way the word  _ whore  _ felt just as good in his mouth as the soft slide of his fingers against Kent's. The way it was easy.

“Of course,” Bitty says.

“I think about that,” Kent tells him. “Doing that to you and feeling—feeling everything you want, doing it. And the look in your eyes you get when you—when you—”

Bitty's voice cracks. “I love you.”

Kent laughs, a hand scrubbing over his face, his other hand working himself over slowly. “Like that, and I—I wanna be the one for once, who—I could take care of you.”

“You do take care of me,” Bitty says. He's hard and he's afraid to touch himself, like he'd dig his own nails in to stop the shaking in his hand.

“I'd lay you down and kiss you and we'd make love and I'd—” Kent's face is blotchy. Bitty can't bear to look at his own. “And I'd feel myself inside you and you could just—you'd let go, baby, and I could—I could—”

It's a kind of panic, maybe, and a dizziness in Bitty's head like he's come already, and he wants it so badly for three horrible seconds that the fucking fuse breaks.

“Fuck, fuck, I'm coming, baby,” Kent pants, and Bitty says, “Me too,” and reaches for the tissues on reflex and holds them to his dry dick, staring through the camera and waiting for the moment Kent's eyes open.

Kent says, “Fuck, that was…”

“Yeah,” Bitty answers. He doesn't have to fake the tremor in his voice.

“Fuck, I love you,” says Kent.

Bitty smiles and means that too. Particularly the ache in his cheeks. “I love you too, sweetheart. I, um, better get to sleep, though.”

“Yeah.” Kent runs a hand through his hair. “Say hi to Zimms for me?”

“Of course,” Bitty says, then hangs up the call.

He crawls under the covers with a shaky sigh and grabs for his phone.

**_Bitty (11:48 PM):_ ** _ Would you mind not coming over tonight? I might be getting sick :( _

**_Jack (11:48 PM):_ ** _ Sure. Can I do anything? _

Bitty presses his face into the pillow and wheezes around a sob. The tears dampen the fabric and make it scratch against his cheek, and then it's over. 

There's no  _ before  _ that he can touch anymore—like waking up from a dream and grappling for pieces that fit together with incomprehensible edges. He wants it back. It doesn't come. 

There must be something else, a thing his hands can build while they're awake. Nothing as easy.

**_Bitty (11:51 AM):_ ** _ You're sweet, but not tonight. I'll let you know how I feel in the morning. But Kent says hi :) _

 

~*~

 

Mama Bittle comes to visit for the weekend of Bitty's birthday and the entire Haus loses its collective goddamn mind. It somehow shocks Bitty every time, even though it's an enduring fact of his life—everyone loves his mother.

Shitty not only puts on pants without being asked, he even wears a shirt. Rans and Holster collect every single sock off the living room floor. Jack carries all the groceries into the house for her and patiently absorbs her constant stream of small-talk, which is not a trait Bitty inherited at all, thank you very much.

And it's not that Bitty doesn't grasp it, on some level. He speaks of her warmly, and calls her his best friend.

It's just that, now, every time he looks at her, she's a little farther away.

There was a way she understood him when he was younger—when they spent all their time together and traded her gossip about the neighbors for his about friends and classmates. But now Bitty has stories that he can't share—he can't tell her about Ransom and Holster's latest threesome-fail, or the time Shitty and Lardo made a human art project about fighting the patriarchy.

He certainly can't tell her about how the biggest drama in his own life is whether or not his two boyfriends will start dating.

Bitty's not sure he's ever said the word  _ gay  _ in the same room as her, let alone about himself.

So he listens to his teammates talk about how he has the sw'awesomest mom, and rolls out a pie crust while hoping they won't run out of things to talk about.

“Oh, and Dicky, I haven't even told you about Chrissy Boyer yet,” Mama is saying, enthusiastically gesturing with an apple peeler. “You will not  _ believe— _ oh, hello, Jack!”

“Hi, Mrs. Bittle. Hi, Bittle.” Jack bumps shoulders with Bitty as he deposits a plate in the sink. “Baking, eh?”

Bitty shoulder-nudges him back. “Yep! Maple-apple, just for you.”

Mama says, “Jack, I hear you've become quite the baking assistant.”

“Haha,” says Jack. “I don't think I'm a very good one. I ruined Bittle's school project.”

“That is patently untrue!” Bitty tells him. “You're a delight.”

His mother laughs. “Well, honey, you're welcome to stay. We can always use an extra pair of hands.”

“Uh,” Jack says, “sure.”

Jack is put to work peeling the apples, freeing Mama up to roll out the second crust.

She gets back to her story after Jack settles in. “Anyway, Dicky, as I was sayin'—Chrissy Boyer.”

Bitty says, “Ooh, right.”

“You remember her, right? Sweet girl, a few years younger'n you.” Mama pauses and adds distastefully, “In the marchin’ band.”

“Yes, Mama,” Bitty answers patiently. 

“Well, I was talkin’ to her Aunt Helen at church last Sunday, and you will not  _ believe!”  _ Mama puts the rolling pin on the counter. “She's gone and gotten pregnant.”

Bitty gasps. “No! Ain't she seventeen?”

Mama clucks her tongue. “Sure is. But that ain't the half of it. Guess who the father is.”

Jack shoots Bitty a curious glance, but Bitty ignores him.

“Who?” he asks.

“That horrible Williams boy—the younger one, Bobby.”

“You're kidding,” Bitty says encouragingly. He curls his fingers around the edge of the pie tin, fully indulging in her story. It makes him feel young again.

Maybe he'll send Chrissy something nice on Facebook later.

Mama returns to her pie dough, though her voice doesn't become any less animated. “And you shoulda  _ heard  _ the way Helen talked about that poor girl, Dicky, it was  _ disgraceful.” _

“Really?” Bitty asks.

“Well, she said what we were all thinkin’, obviously, which is that if those band girls kept their legs shut none of this woulda happened,” Mama says, and Bitty winces. “But to say it at  _ church.  _ And about her own family, no less!”

Bitty busies himself with crimping the edges of the crust. “Um, uh huh.”

“So I said to her—and mind you this is in front of the whole food drive committee,” Mama continues, “I said to her, 'no use kickin’ the poor thing while she's down—and at least she's doin’ the right thing by keepin’ the baby.’”

“Right,” Bitty agrees. He doesn't look at Jack. “Of course.”

Mama says, “And  _ furthermore—” _

“You tell her, Mama.”

“I said, 'And I reckon that if we want to raise proper young ladies, we should start raising gentlemen again too.’” She punctuates this with a particularly aggressive move of the rolling pin. “I mean,  _ honestly.  _ That Williams family is no good. That Bobby is a troublemaker through and through, going and gettin’ girls knocked up.”

Bitty runs out of crust to crimp and starts cutting up apples, reaching over Jack to get a cutting board. “Right, it ain't all her fault.”

“I mean, your daddy and me raised you  _ right,”  _ Mama insists. “You don't see my son runnin’ around and gettin’ girls into trouble like that.”

“Nope.” Bitty laughs weakly. “Certainly not.”

Jack's finished with his apples and seems too hesitant to interrupt and ask for something else to do. Bitty pats him on the hand and gives him the cutting board, then goes for the berries in the fridge to make the second filling.

“Although, while we're on the subject, you could be gettin’ into a  _ little  _ trouble, Dicky,” Mama teases. Bitty freezes with the fridge door open. “I mean, nothin’ extreme or anythin’, but you could find a nice girl and take her to a party or two.”

Bitty grabs his ingredients all in one go. “Mhm.”

“Because honestly, baby, how're you ever gonna find someone to settle down with if all you do is play hockey?” 

If Kent were here, he'd probably laugh. As it is, Jack gives his next apple an aggressive chop and stays as silent as Bitty is.

“Well, anyway,” Mama blessedly diverts again, “I said all that and was mighty pleased with myself over it, and I could tell some of the other ladies agreed with me, you know.”

“That's great, Mama,” Bitty says. “I'm glad you stuck up for her.”

Mama huffs. “But you won't believe what that bi—oh, Jack, pardon my French.”

“That's okay,” Jack says. “I’m fluent.”

Bitty snickers, shooting him a wry smile. He gives Bitty a tiny one back, looking particularly pleased with himself.

Mama breezes over Jack's chirp. “That  _ snotty _ woman had the  _ nerve  _ to say to me—she said that if I'm talkin’ gentlemen, I better keep an  _ eye  _ on you.”

_ “What?” _ Bitty is genuinely indignant. 

“Now I told her, 'you don't see my Dicky runnin’ around with a different girl every week, disrespectin’ the Lord like that.’” Mama's abandoned her pie crust half-rolled, gesturing broadly. “And she had the nerve to tell me I shouldn't've let you go off to school up North.”

Bitty asks, “What's wrong with my  _ school?” _ and immediately regrets it. Everything wrong with Samwell is why he picked it.

But Mama is already back to it. “Well, she said to me that those fancy colleges start givin’ children  _ ideas.  _ How hardly anyone goes to church and starts forgetting what's—what we oughta stand for, and what it means to be a proper man.”

“Oh,” says Bitty.

“And I told that spiteful woman that my son  _ knows  _ who he is,” Mama says firmly. She reaches over and covers his hand with hers, and the most he's talked to God recently is to pray that Mama can't feel how cold he's gone. “Ain't no school gonna change that.”

Bitty clears his throat and manages, “Of course not.”

“But I will say, Dicky.” Mama moves her hand away and goes back to the pie. “No one talked like this before you cut your hair.”

Bitty looks over at Jack, the only direction he can flash the fear in his eyes. “What?”

“I didn't wanna tell you, 'cause I didn't want to hurt your  _ feelings,  _ baby,” Mama says.

“Tell me what?” Bitty asks. “What're people sayin’, Mama?”

She deftly flips the pie crust into the tin and answers, “Well, just that that's when some... comments started. About how me and your daddy were so  _ trusting  _ to let you go so far away, that Dad should've toughened you up before you left home—ridiculous talk like that.”

“They should see Eric play hockey,” Jack says suddenly. He gives Bitty a gentle nudge, smiling encouragingly. “You're plenty tough out there, eh?”

Bitty laughs thinly, though he shoots Jack a grateful look. “Well, I don't know about  _ plenty.” _

“You're a Phelps through-and-through,” Mama says simply. “It don't matter how you look—it's what you're made out of. And I know my son.”

He hates that he wants her to be wrong.

 

~*~

 

They finish both pies and watch them disappear in a matter of minutes between Bitty's teammates and Lardo. 

His mom is staying at the Haus to save the money on a hotel, and they're discussing who gets first shower while Jack inflates their air mattress for them. In the end, Bitty convinces Mama to take it and sinks down to the floor as soon as she's gone, head propped up against the bed and staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Uh.” Jack kicks the door shut and sits down next to him. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy,” Bitty answers. 

Jack says, “Your mom, uh. Said a lot of stuff.”

“That's just how she is.”

Jack looks around like she might materialize in the room, then pulls Bitty into a swift, tight embrace.

“I love you,” he says. 

It would be nice if there were more to say, but there isn't. Bitty cups a hand around the back of Jack's neck and whispers, “Thank you.”

 

~*~

 

Bitty comes back from his shower (long, boiling hot) to find his room marginally less messy and his mama sitting on the bed, holding Señor Bun in one hand and stroking her thumb over the button nose she’s mended for him twice.

It's not so much the look on her face—it's something deeper, less nameable. Bitty sits down perpendicular to her and crosses his legs and waits.

“Dicky,” she says eventually, and she sounds like the time he came home from school with a bruised eye and told her he fell on the playground but the principal had already called home. “You'd tell me if, um, if you had a...girl...you'd been seeing, right?”

Bitty scrunches up the comforter in his hands and is not lying when he tells her, “Yes, of course.”

God, he wishes it were a thing he could tell her, one day. Still.

“It's just,” Mama says, and it will always break his heart to disappoint her, “I, um, well—I was fixin’ to do a load of laundry, and I went into the closet and, well, I found...you know.”

He doesn't finish her sentence. He begs her silently instead— _ Do you know? _

She clears her throat and says, “I found the, um, well, the condoms.”

“I'm sorry,” Bitty says—for the condoms, for the fact that they both know, maybe, that using them with a girl would have been a confessable sin. He tightens his grip on the comforter. “Mama, I'm...I'm sorry.”

She looks over at him with her wide, soft eyes, and people are always saying that he looks like her and he can only ever see it like this—with the tears welling up.

“Would you have told me? When it got serious?” she asks.

Bitty's voice cracks. “It is.”

Mama laughs sadly, reaching over to him and brushing the hair from his forehead, her fingers curling like she wants to cup his face or at least wipe the tears, and can't bring herself to move the bones in her wrist.

“I thought I'd...get to see it,” she says softly. “The first time you fell in love.”

The condoms were next to the lube, which was next to that ridiculous pair of underwear that Jack never took back.

She must know. She must see who he is, under all the skin.

“I'm sorry,” Bitty says again.

Mama nods. She brushes her knuckles along the shell of his ear and then runs a hand down his back, and gets out the words thickly, faltering like she wants to use different ones. “You know, um, what the Bible says, about...sex...before marriage.”

Bitty closes his eyes. “Yes, ma'am.”

“And you know I'd rip up that whole book for you,” she swears, and he hadn't, and he tries to laugh so hard that he feels something crack in his throat.

“Dicky?” Mama asks, alarmed, but she wraps his up in her arms when he surges into them. “Oh, baby, it's okay. It's  _ okay.” _

Bitty cries harder and tries to crawl into her lap, like she could hold him like she did when his eye was swelling shut and he begged her to not make him go back to school. He's too big for it now, all muscle and elbow, but she holds him anyway.

He sobs, “I just wanted you to be proud of me.”

“Baby,” she answers fiercely. “Nothin’ you do could make me quit lovin’ you.”

He wonders if she thinks they're the same thing.

 

~*~

 

Bitty walks his mama to her car the next morning, lugging her suitcase and trying not to rub at the soreness behind his eyes. 

She hugs him goodbye, her chin digging into his shoulder, and says, “Baby, I was thinkin’...why don't you grow your hair out for the summer? Just while you're home—I'll even take you to get it cut again in the fall.”

Bitty pulls away and croaks, “What?”

Mama brushes her fingers through the long section on top, breaking up the mousse he put in it this morning. “Just, you know...to make things easier. You don't want people to keep talkin’, do you?”

 

~*~

 

“How close do you want the shave on the side?” the barber asks. “Just cleaning it up?”

Bitty stares down the wide-eyed reflection in the mirror and says, “Close as you can.”

 

~*~

 

“Sick haircut, babe.” Kent is reclined on his couch, one leg drawn up with an arm draped across his knee and the other spread out wide. He takes up space, even alone. “How was the weekend with your mom?”

“Good,” Bitty says. “How're you feelin’ against the Sharks tomorrow? Chowder is so conflicted.”

 

~*~

 

Two days after Mama leaves, Kent sends a giant bouquet of orange and yellow flowers to the Haus, addressed to  _ “my sunshine,”  _ which is ridiculous. There are also two tickets to Taylor Swift this summer, which should be more jarring than the note. 

Bitty stashes the tickets in his pocket and turns the card slowly through his fingers, watching the gold script flash in the light. He can hear his mother singing in the kitchen and his own laughter, if he lets his eyes go unfocused.

“Holy shit, Bits,” Holster says, hefting the vase onto the kitchen table. “Happy fucking birthday, I guess.”

Bitty says, “Thanks.”

“Is it just me or, like, are these presents escalating like  _ mad  _ quickly?” Ransom asks. He sniffs the bouquet and sneezes dramatically.

Bitty shrugs. “I mean—”

Jack comes down the stairs just then, doing a double-take at the table and narrowing his eyes as he opens up the fridge.

“Like, the guy's gonna run out of room to outdo himself, is what I'm saying,” Ransom continues.

Jack shuts the fridge loudly.

Holster says, “Nah, bro, you load all the big presents into the first year and then coast on it until the fifth anniversary or something. It's like, classic impression management.”

Bitty frowns. “I don't think that's it.”

“Agreed,” Rans says. “Like, Parse doesn't seem like the coasting type?”

Bitty scoots his chair away from the table and props the card against the vase. “I didn't mean—”

“So what's the proposal gonna be?” Ransom asks. He nudges Bitty with an elbow. “Ooh, you think he'll get you a car?”

Bitty bites his lip and looks over at Jack, who's currently trying to set Ransom on fire telepathically.

Holster snort-laughs and says, “Bro, think bigger—I bet he's got a house picked out.”

“Bittle isn't a trophy husband,” Jack cuts in tersely. He takes a swig of his protein shake.

“Ooh, you know what we should do?” Ransom suggests, waving Lardo and Shitty over as they come down the stairs. “We should take bets on when he proposes—Bits, you can't play—Lards, as team manager you've gotta be bookie—”

“Hey,” Bitty protests, his heart rate suddenly kicking up, “Maybe  _ I'll  _ propose.”

Holster actually  _ shushes  _ him. “Over or under is obvs graduation. I bet under.”

Jack bodily shoves past Holster to get out of the kitchen.

“What the  _ fuck _ is your problem, man?” Holster snaps.

Bitty shrinks down in his chair, silently begging Jack to make eye contact with him.  _ Please don't start. _

Jack's spine locks into place. He doesn't turn around. “I don't have a problem. Yet.”

_ “Yet?” _ Holster repeats. “Fucking hell, I'm so fucking sick of your shitty homophobic—”

Jack barks out a laugh, but his hands are clenched at his sides so tightly that they're trembling. “What did you just—”

“Please, y'all,” Bitty begs, “don't—”

Shitty says, “Holster, trust me man, don't fucking go there.”

“Seriously, Shits?” Holster snaps. “You of all people should know better!”

Jack turns around slowly. He's a good three inches shorter than Holster, but Holster still flinches when they lock eyes.

Jack’s voice is an even, growling cord. “Watch your fucking tone.”

Holster calls the bluff and takes a step towards him. “I don't care who your daddy is, Zimmermann, I'll fucking report you—Bitty deserves better than—”

“Holster,  _ please,”  _ Bitty tries. “I don't—just leave him alone.”

“Listen to what Bittle says, Adam,” Jack says—it comes out low, like a threat.

“Bitty can't tell you what he actually wants because he's  _ scared  _ of you,” Holster shoots back. “We all know you've had it out for him since he got here—no one's had the balls to say it until now, but here's a fucking reality check,  _ bud— _ you can't fucking bully people into liking you.”

Jack's shoulders collapse like the wind's been knocked out of him, but Bitty's the one who gasps. No one looks at him besides Lardo, who looks just as helpless as he feels.

“I don't care if you like me,” Jack grits out. “You’re nothing to me.”

He storms out with that, the sound of his feet pounding up the stairs cutting through Holster's shouted,  _ “Fuck you!” _

A door slams upstairs.

“Bits,” Lardo says gently. “Are you okay?”

Bitty presses his face into his hands and smothers a sob.

“Shit,” says Ransom.

Bitty sucks in a half-mouthful of air and tries to swallow it down; he coughs it back up with another humiliating sound, shoulders shaking. 

Someone puts a hand on him and Holster asks, “Should we, uh, call Parse?”

“Just  _ leave  _ it!” Bitty begs, wincing and pressing the tops of his palms into his cheeks. “Please.”

Another pair of footsteps goes up the stairs—maybe Shitty's, from the sound of it. 

“Bits, man, forget him,” Holster says. “We've got your back no matter what.”

Bitty steadies himself enough to sit up straight. He doesn't know what he can say without risking outing Jack. This secret is killing him.

“Holster—y'all—I, um, I appreciate what you're...what you're trying to do,” he manages, staring at his hands. “But I just—please leave Jack alone, okay? I don’t want this.”

Holster opens his mouth to argue, but Ransom elbows him sharply in the side and he says, “...Okay,” instead. “But look, bro—you say the word, okay?”

Bitty forces a laugh. “Duly noted. I'm gonna, um...go be alone for a while, though? Sorry, I just…”

“It's cool, brah,” Lardo says. She holds out her hand for a fist bump, which he gives her.

Bitty nods, looking between the three of them tentatively, and then slips out of the room and upstairs. He checks that no one's following behind him and then opens Jack's door instead of his own.

Jack is sitting on the bed with his head between his knees and Shitty perched next to him with a hand rubbing circles on his back. Jack doesn't look up when Bitty shuts the door behind him.

Shitty gives Bitty a questioning look, jerking his head towards his room. Bitty bites his lip and nods.

“I'll be next door, Jacko,” Shitty says, patting Jack's shoulder before hopping to his feet.

Bitty waits for both connecting doors to close before he sits down on the bed and says, “Hey, sweetheart. I'm so sorry.”

“Is he right?” Jack asks, lifting his head slowly and staring at the edge of Bitty's knee, not even trying to search his face.

Bitty worries at his lip. He wants to touch him so badly and doesn't know how—doesn't know if Jack wants that.

“About what?” he asks.

Jack's eyes are wet and mournful—so blue that Bitty feels cold. “Are you afraid of me?”

“Oh,  _ sweetheart,” _ Bitty says, and the words taste like his mother's voice. “I—I love you so much.”

Jack closes his eyes, dropping his chin back to his knee. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Bitty presses gently.

Jack sighs. “I hate this. I hate—listening to them talk about you and not—”

He cuts off, but the word hangs in the air. Bitty reaches out tentatively, running a hair through Jack's hair, and points out, “Honey, you  _ hate  _ people talkin’ about you.”

“But no one understands,” Jack insists, shaking Bitty's hand off and putting his own hands in his hair instead. “They talk like he's the only one. And I want to buy you flowers and take you places and marry you and they're taking bets like—”

Bitty holds his breath.

“Christ,” Jack says. He glances up at Bitty with wide eyes and then looks back down as the blush rises to his cheeks. “I just—I didn't mean…”

“It's okay,” Bitty says quickly, a whoosh of air. He feels light-headed.

Jack stares at Bitty's shoes and says, “But I would. One day.”

Bitty can picture it—Jack on one knee instead of two, warm sunshine glinting off the Pond while they murmur vows, Kent's hands inexplicably sliding up his bare back while Jack kisses him. He doesn't think Jack is seeing the same thing.

“Me too,” he answers, staring at the gentle part in Jack's lips while he controls his breathing.

“Maybe we should tell them,” Jack says.

Bitty chirps wetly, “That the bettin’ pool's more complicated?”

Jack turns to him and cups his face, fingertips grazing his jaw, and stares at his mouth. “Please.”

_ My favorite word,  _ Bitty thinks, and leans in.

 

~*~

 

“Just call me if you guys need anything after,” Kent says over Skype. “I know I can't be there but—”

“We'll be fine,” Jack snaps. He climbs off the bed and makes his way downstairs without Bitty.

Kent closes his eyes and laughs helplessly, a soft, sad sound.

Bitty gets a better version of Jack, too.

“I'll call you tonight, baby,” he promises gently, his heart aching. “I love you.”

“Love you too, babe.” 

Kent disconnects the call.

Bitty closes his laptop with a sigh, then hurries downstairs to join Jack. They sent out the group text almost twenty minutes ago, so everyone should have gathered by now. 

Sure enough, all of their housemates plus Lardo are in the living room, chatting amongst themselves and generally ignoring the way Jack is using the wall to hold himself up.

“Hey, y'all,” Bitty says, loud enough to get their attention. “Um, sorry for the short notice, but we've got some—”

“We?” Holster asks.

Bitty looks over at Jack, who offers a faltering smile and holds out his hand.

Bitty takes it.

“No way,” says Lardo.

“Um, me and Jack,” Bitty says. He pauses, breathing shakily and fixing his eyes on Shitty, and promises himself it'll be better when it's over. “Me and Jack are dating.”

Holster is gaping at Jack. “Holy fucking shit.”

“Yeah,” Jack says.

Holster says, “I called you a homophobe.”

Jack repeats, “Yeah.”

“Like.” Holster's voice goes uncharacteristically high-pitched. “More than  _ once.” _

“In your defense,” Jack says dryly, “I can see how you got there.”

Ransom says, “You're the other boyfriend.”

Bitty looks between the two of them, worrying at his bottom lip. “That's...what datin’ means, yes.”

“Ohhhhh fuck me,” Holster says. “Fuck me. What the fuck.”

Bitty looks to Lardo and begs, “Please be normal about this.”

“Sure,” Lardo agrees. “Uh. Congrats?”

“Shits,” Ransom asks, “did you know?”

Shitty makes a vague hand gesture. “Ehh.”

“Fuck me,” Holster says again. “Wait, but, I don't—you were still  _ totally  _ being a dick, right? Am I crazy? I'm going crazy.”

“I'm, uh. Not sure how you want me to answer that,” Jack says.

“Bits,” Holster says, “I'm so sorry, dude.”

Bitty raises his eyebrows. “You're apologizing to  _ me?” _

Rans interjects, “I have, like, a million questions?”

“I tried to turn you against your secret boyfriend,” Holster says.

Jack asks, “You tried to turn him against me?”

Shitty says, “Okay, okay, how about we—”

“Not like it worked,” Bitty reassures Jack primly.

Holster coughs loudly and takes his glasses off. “Listen, Jack, I thought you were like—wait, why  _ are  _ you so weird about Parse?”

Ransom adds, “Yeah, I thought Bits said it was, like, consensual polyamory or whatever.”

“There's no non-consensual polyamory,” Shitty says. “That's just cheating?”

Jack says, “Uh.”

“It's just awkward,” Bitty explains quickly. “Jack's fine with me dating Kent, he'd just appreciate if y'all...chilled a little bit?”

“Ohh!” Holster points his glasses at Jack. “You're  _ jealous.” _

“What?” Jack snaps.

“Yo,” Ransom asks, “when'd you two get together?”

Shitty fields that one. “Like, around the time Bits and Parse had that big fight.”

Ransom looks at Bitty. “Woah.”

“Talk about rebound,” Holster chirps as he slips his glasses back on. It comes out meaner than he meant it, probably.

Jack tightens his grip on Bitty's hand. “Shut up.”

“Don't tell me to shut up.” Holster looks around the room. “Seriously, is no one else, like, mad confused about the det—”

Lardo says, “Soo, anyone else want froyo?”

Bitty jumps up with a wide smile. “What a  _ great  _ idea! What do you think, honey, you wanna?”

Jack gives him a confused look. God.

“Ooh, I hope they have blueberry cheesecake today,” Ransom says. He claps Holster on the shoulder and stands up. “Wanna go halvsies, bro?”

Holster narrows his eyes at Ransom, then makes eye contact with Bitty, questioning him silently.

Bitty bites his lip and stares back, unblinking.

“Chill,” Holster says eventually. He takes Rans’ hand to pull himself off the couch, shifting so he's looking at Jack instead, and tells him, “Congrats on the 'ship, btdubs. Bitty's a great guy—you're lucky to have him.”

“Finally something we agree on,” Jack deadpans, but he turns to Bitty with a soft, relieved smile after. It's amazing, how there's so much of him that he only gives to Bitty.

Their friends can see it now, though. The way Bitty reaches on his tiptoes to brush his thumb across Jack's cheek, the way Jack still shudders just a little bit, every time. It's as much for them as it is for himself, when Bitty kisses Jack.

Begging them to see the best part.

 

~*~

 

The Aces get eliminated from the playoffs in the second round, which means Kent gets to fly in for a few days before the semester ends. He insists on taking a rental from the airport, so Bitty is sitting on the couch and chatting with Chowder about his relationship with Farmer when the front door opens.

His head snaps up and he grins when he locks eyes with Kent, throwing himself off the couch and into Kent's arms.

“Hey, babe.” Kent laughs giddily, taking a step back against the wall. He nuzzles against Bitty's temple and murmurs, “Fuck, I missed you so fucking much.”

Bitty hides his face in Kent's neck. “Me too.”

It's almost too much to hold. Bitty nips the underside of Kent's jaw instead of biting his own lip, fighting the sudden urge to cry. It's been so long. 

“I love you,” Kent tells him. “Jesus, I'm so fucking glad I'm here.”

“Me too,” Bitty repeats, fingers curling. He could stay like this all night, just holding him.

Someone clears their throat, and Bitty lifts his head.

Jack is standing there with his hands in his pockets, flashing Kent a tiny smile. “Uh. Hey, Kenny.”

Kent lets Bitty go and shoves his own hands into his pockets too, wearing the same smirk he did the night it all started. 

_ God, it feels like a lifetime ago. _

“Hey, Zimms.” Kent takes a half-step forward. “Didja miss me?”

Jack pulls him into a hug and Bitty smiles, watching the way Kent melts into it, jaw visibly unclenching. Bitty looks out over the room and catches everyone staring—watching for what will happen.

It's not entirely blatant—Holster is still talking to Dex, though his eyes are firmly on whatever expression is on Kent's face, and Lardo glances over as she takes a drink of her beer. But suddenly Bitty feels  _ observed,  _ like they're in some kind of zoo.

He understands, now, how Jack has felt for months.

Kent pulls away first, slinging an arm around Bitty's shoulders. “C'mon, babe, your time to wine and dine me.”

Bitty wraps his arm around Kent's waist and leans into his side to steer him towards the kitchen. He puts on his best  _ fancy cooking show host  _ voice and says, “Today, we have a delightful menu of pizza rolls—garnished with a single chicken tender—and paired with the mellow flavor of Natty Light.”

Kent snorts, reaching out to tug on Jack's sleeve as they brush past him, and asks, “You coming, Zimms?”

“You had me at chicken tenders,” Jack answers. He plucks the snapback off of Kent's head to ruffle his hair.

“Hey!” Kent protests, laughing. “Stop ruining my look!”

Jack deadpans, “What look?”

Bitty rolls his eyes fondly and pulls away from Kent to get the pizza rolls from the freezer—he glances at the oven timer, confirming that the chicken tenders need a little longer.

Jack and Kent lean up against the counter, close enough that their arms are brushing together, and Jack replaces the hat on Kent's head.

“So, uh,” Kent says, watching their friends in the other room. “The Falcs, huh?”

Jack's voice goes careful. “Uh. Yeah.”

Bitty dumps the pizza rolls onto a plate and shoves them in the microwave.

Kent looks over at Jack, rubbing at one arm with his other hand, and tells him, “That's great, man. They're a great team.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Mashkov broke your nose.”

“I deserved it.” Kent turns away breezily, hands going back in his pockets, eyes on neutral ground. He's still smirking, like it got stuck there.

Bitty watches his face, stares at the subtle curve of his nose. It healed very well, all things considered. He wonders, idly, if it really looks different now at all—if he's the one who won't let things be how they were.

The oven timer goes off. Bitty slips on an oven mitt and takes the tenders out, resting them on top of the stove.

Kent eyes them hungrily and reaches a hand out, which Bitty smacks away.

“Don't you dare!” he scolds, but there's laughter creeping into his voice. “They're scalding hot!”

“Aww, Bits,” Kent whines, “but I'm hungry.”

Bitty huffs and crosses his arms. “I'm sure you are, but patience is a—”

Kent kisses him, a hand sliding into his hair, and pauses to suggest, “Maybe you should distract me?”

“I suppose,” Bitty allows. He sighs rather dramatically for someone already chasing his boyfriend's mouth.

They kiss slowly, Bitty's arms winding around Kent's neck, before Kent pulls away again.

“C'mere, Zimms,” he asks softly, opening his arms. Bitty turns his head and smiles encouragingly at Jack, who smiles back as the microwave starts to beep.

Jack brackets Bitty in and cups the side of Kent's face, his forearm grazing Bitty's cheek as he drags a thumb down the bridge of his crooked nose.

“Okay,” he says, belatedly, already halfway into the kiss.

Bitty ducks his head and shifts so he's hugging Kent around the middle, his face tucked against Kent's chest. He squeezes his eyes shut when Jack shifts in closer, moving so intently that he backs Kent into the counter and Bitty can feel the gentle shifting of both their bodies.

He wonders if Kent can feel his heart racing. He's trapped between them, held in place, and wants desperately to squeeze out from under Jack's arm even as his buries his face into Kent's shirt and inhales the smell of his cologne.

It feels different than before—not the sudden fear he could suffocate or the panicked voice that says  _ run— _ but how he used to love Kent so loudly that he forgot he could hear it. 

He doesn't love Kent less. He still carries it in the warm swelling in his chest—for them both, the gentle rock of Jack's hips and the way Kent sounds like he's about to cry. But it's not easy anymore.

Bitty wants it badly enough anyway.

He focuses on the grounding scent of a familiar, foreign body, tightens his hands in the back of Kent's flannel, and waits out the trembling.

It's gone by the time Kent ducks down to mouth at Bitty's earlobe, panting shakily and grazing his fingertips under Bitty's shirt, along the ribs.

Bitty shivers, shifting, finding Jack's hand already in Kent's hair when he goes to tug on it. Jack chuckles and gives way, and Bitty hums gratefully as his fingers tighten.

“Fuck,” Kent whispers. “You're everything.”

Bitty plants his feet and leans in.  _ Maybe it can all be okay. _

 

~*~

 

“You sleep with him every  _ night,”  _ Kent snaps.

Jack scowls. “Exactly. Why should I have to miss it?”

“Y’all,” Bitty protests weakly, but he wouldn’t have anything to follow it up with even if they were listening to him. 

Lord, they wouldn’t even be having this fight if someone had a bigger bed. 

“I dunno, Jack,” Kent snarks, “I forgot you’re trying for the ‘most selfish motherfucker on the planet’ award again this year.”

Jack rolls his eyes and turns away.

“No seriously, you need more help winning?” Kent asks. His voice is raised enough that Bitty’s pretty sure people can hear downstairs, which is  _ humiliating.  _ “Wanna take my house—my car? Maybe I should break up with Eric so you can have him—”

Bitty marches calmly into his room and shuts the door behind himself, then locks it. 

Their conversation cuts off. Jack hisses, “Look what you did.”

“What  _ I _ —fuck this.” One of them, presumably Kent, tries the handle before finding it locked. “Shit. Hey, Bits, I’m sorry, okay? We’re sorry.”

Bitty leans his forehead against the door and measures out his words. “If y’all can’t decide, I will. You two can sleep in Jack’s room and I’ll have Bun for company tonight.”

At least Bun doesn’t fuel the Haus gossip mill.

Kent says, “But I want—”

“I know,” Bitty says evenly. He bites his lip and glances over his shoulder at a bed that suddenly seems far too empty. His voice forcibly brightens as he unlocks and opens the door. “But...maybe it’ll be nice, right? Y’all haven’t seen each other in a while either.”

Jack and Kent glance at each other, then back at him. Kent half-looks like he might try to dive into the room under Bitty’s arm, but then he turns to Jack again and nudges him with a shy little smile.

“Guess we could bunk up like the old days, huh, Zimms?” he asks.

Jack rubs the back of his neck, suitably red-faced and rebuked. “Uh. Yeah. I’m sorry, about...I just…”

“Change sucks?” Kent offers kindly. It’s strange, watching him walk the fight back on his own. Bitty very nearly changes his mind, grabs him by the wrist and pulls.

But he doesn’t, and Jack answers, “Yeah.”

Kent ventures a chirp, nudging Jack harder this time. “Short, blond, good at hockey...bet you won't even notice the difference, huh?”

Bitty winces, but Jack laughs.

“Like those, uh, what're they called?” he asks, reaching over to tweak Kent's ear. “Russian nesting dolls, eh?”

“Oh my God,” Bitty says. He rolls his eyes fondly, though, managing to breathe a sigh of relief. “Y'all're ridiculous.”

Kent reaches first, tugging on Bitty's wrist where it's pressed against the doorframe, and Bitty folds into him for a hug. 

“You love us,” Kent tells him.

Bitty kisses his cheek. “I do.”

They separate and Bitty hugs Jack next, nuzzling against his bicep, and says, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Night, Bittle.” Jack kisses the top of his head and squeezes him a little tighter before pulling away. 

And then they're just three people staring at each other, waiting for something to happen that none of them quite wanted. Bitty waits for one of them to give—and realizes it has to be him. 

“Well,” he says briskly, “see y'all in the mornin’,” and closes his door again before there's something else to say.

He can hear them murmuring in the hallway as he shuts off the light and tugs Bun free from the covers, hugging him to his chest, and decidedly does not let the words take shape. 

The bed is cold and he left the door unlocked, like someone could fix it.

 

~*~

 

Bitty wakes up before his alarm to the feeling of fingers tracing down his arm, warm and sweet. He rolls onto his side and opens his eyes to find Kent staring at him with a disarming glow on his face, the light from the window coming in just right.

“Hey,” Kent says softly. “Zimms went for a run. Convinced him to spare ya.”

Bitty laughs quietly and cups his face to pull him into a kiss. “My hero.”

“Mm,” Kent hums. He slides a hand into Bitty's hair and shifts closer, leaning into him, and Bitty takes the hint to roll onto his back.

Kent is braced over top of him, kissing him earnestly, every touch so gentle that it almost feels bruising instead. Like it reminds Bitty everything that hands can do.

He slides his up Kent's back, under whatever shirt he slept in, his nails flexing like they want to dig in. Bitty wants it to be soft, like Kent wants. He traces a foot up Kent's calf.

It's odd, being underneath someone. Under Kent, who wants to cover him—not possessively, but close enough. Jack folds up his bones, tucks his chin, does what Bitty says.

But this—

Kent drags his teeth against Bitty's bottom lip and then kisses at his neck, suckling and just barely nipping the skin, and his hips are frotting gently against him, and his hand is steady and comforting and pinning Bitty lightly by the shoulder and Bitty thinks—

_ Please, God, let me have this. Let me want it. _

He does. But there's the thing in his throat that Kent can't bite through, and Kent is dragging his other hand along the outside of Bitty's thigh and murmuring, “Would you wanna, uh, like we talked about?”

Bitty slips a hand up to the base of Kent's neck and says quickly, “Not today,” and hates that the question forces an answer.

If Kent wouldn't ask, would just help Bitty go along with it—

But that wouldn't be what Bitty loves him for, or why Bitty nuzzles against the sweet edge of his open smile and lies, “It just, um...seems like a lot of work? This early?”

Kent chuckles, kissing the corner of Bitty's mouth. “Fair.”

It wouldn't be why Bitty offers up the best he can and prays that one day it will be better. “But I'd, um...I'd like it—staying like this.”

Kent hums, pleased and easy for it, like he always is. He's smiling, nuzzling his nose against Bitty's cheek, loving Bitty so hard that some of it spills over. Into what, Bitty doesn't know. Bitty's chest, or the underside of his knees when he wraps one around Kent's waist and pulls him down.

“God,” Bitty says, the horror swelling up. “I'm so in love with you.”

Kent grinds against Bitty's dick, shoulder muscles flexing under the press of Bitty's hand, and huffs out a laugh. He's sweating, just barely, and his face presses half into the pillow and half against Bitty's neck.

“Me too,” he answers, like he filtered out the fear when he heard it. Or didn't, maybe, breathing hot air onto Bitty's throat. “Fuck, babe.”

“Gonna come?” Bitty pants.

Kent says, “Me too,” again, and Bitty laughs and presses his hip bones up, hard, to get himself there anyway.

Kent gasps and twitches while he comes in his sweatpants, half the mess smearing into Bitty's shorts instead, the wet fabric changing the friction on his cock.

“Oh, fuck, 'm—I'm—” Bitty throws his head back and squirms as Kent traces a hand down his chest and palms his dick, mouthing at his bared throat. “K-Kent—”

“I've got you, babe,” Kent murmurs, lips against his wild pulse, and Bitty comes mid-sob. It doesn't hurt, except that he wants it to. That it would make sense to be afraid, if it did.

Kent pulls his hand away before Bitty gets oversensitive, twisting his wrist to wipe the come off on his ruined pants. He noses gently at the underside of Bitty's jaw and breathes out, “Fuck, Eric.”

“Kenny,” Bitty whispers. He lets his vision go fuzzy as he stares at the ceiling and feels his eyes start to water. Absentmindedly, his hand slips out from under Kent's shirt and into his hair, petting it gently.

Kent rolls off of him and onto his back with another laugh. “That was…”

“A lot,” Bitty agrees. He braces his feet on the bed so he can wiggle out of his shorts, and Kent mimics him.

“You okay?” Kent asks.

Bitty lolls his head to the side and takes him in—he's wearing one of Jack's old tee shirts and is naked from the waist down, and his hair is an absolute mess like it always is. He looks so lovely that Bitty closes his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says, reaching out blindly and getting Kent's cheek. He caresses it gently, fingertips tingling. “Just...wanna go back to sleep—with you?”

Kent rolls over again and nuzzles into Bitty's side, his head tucked under Bitty's chin and an arm draping around his middle. “M'kay.”

Bitty puts a hand back in his hair and scritches lightly at the scalp.

“Mm.” Kent practically purrs, snuggling even closer. He sounds drowsy, the words muffling in Bitty's shirt. “Scale of one to ten?”

“Nine, you sweet boy,” Bitty murmurs.

Kent mumbles, “Gonna get you to ten one day.”

Bitty only holds him tighter.

 

~*~

 

Kent leaves the next morning, after a night Jack begrudgingly offered to let him spend in Bitty's bed. They all say goodbye privately, upstairs, but Bitty doesn't burst into tears until they're down in the foyer and Kent asks for one last hug.

It hits him so suddenly, the aching feeling.

“I don't want you to go,” Bitty begs, hiding his face in the crook of Kent's neck and trying to muffle his voice so his teammates can't hear. “I'll—I’ll miss you and—”

Kent's breathing deregulates. “Babe—me too, but—next month?”

“It's harder every time,” Bitty realizes. He clings viciously, like it's somehow Kent's fault that the panic sets in. “S-saying goodbye. I can't keep doing it.”

“Two years,” Kent promises. “And we'll—we won't have to anymore. Eric, I mean it.”

Two years of this. Saying goodbye, Skype calls when the schedules align, relearning bodies over three days’ time, saying goodbye. It hadn't felt so terrible when they were still in his room, where Bitty could bar the door.

It must feel like nothing to Kent, after Jack. If they lived in the same city it might kill him.

“Two years,” Bitty echoes. He lived for eighteen in Georgia, and even that wasn't enough to break him. He has so much more now—it should be easy for him too.

He'll make it easy, if he has to.

“And just a month,” Kent adds. He kisses along the side of Bitty's face, stopping at the corner of his eye and leaving his cheek against Bitty's temple. “'Till I see you again.”

Bitty clears his throat and pulls away so that he can brush his fingers along Kent's jaw. “See you soon, baby.”

 

~*~

 

He misses Kent the most when he's leaving. The rest of the time is just living.

 

~*~

 

Jack slips into Bitty's room towards the end of finals week, interrupting Bitty from the definitely-just-a-quick-break he was taking on his phone.

“Uh,” Jack says. “Hi.”

Bitty sets his phone down on his desk. “Hi, sweetheart! What's up?”

Jack is blushing slightly and his eyes are fixed on Bitty's ankle where it's crossed over his knee. “Uh, I was wondering...if you wanted to come apartment shopping with me next week, before graduation?”

“Oh!” Bitty bites his lip excitedly as the implication—or, but maybe it isn't supposed to be, he doesn't know—sinks in. “Oh, Jack, I—yes! I'd love that, honey.”

Jack smiles, shuffling a foot against the floor, and then looks up at Bitty's face. “Okay.”

“This'll be so fun!” Bitty says. He's already mentally clearing his entire calendar. “Do you have places picked out already?”

“Ah, Rans helped me make a spreadsheet,” Jack answers, finally leaving the doorway to lean against Bitty's desk instead. “But if you want to look…”

Bitty waves a hand at him. “Oh, I'm sure the places you've found'll be great, honey.”

Jack says, “Okay.”

Bitty opens up a new tab on his computer and starts typing. “But if you send me the spreadsheet I  _ might  _ be able to find a place or two—Mama didn't raise me on HGTV for nothin’. Ooh, how close to the arena do you wanna be?”

“Haha, okay.” Jack kisses Bitty on the top of the head. “Uh, I'll email you what I have. I guess closer to the train station? For when you visit.”

Bitty smiles to himself as he pulls up Google maps.

 

~*~

 

They tour a whole host of apartments after Bitty and Jack finish the last of their finals, with the goal of Jack signing somewhere before they have to go back to Samwell for graduation—after that, Jack will spend time with his parents in Montreal and Bitty will visit Mama and Coach until he, Kent, and Jack can all convene for the summer.

Providence is a beautiful city, all things considered. They walk along the river between apartment tours and Bitty takes pictures of every coffee shop or bakery that he sees, sending a slew of them to Kent alongside photos of the actual apartments. He gets embarrassingly into the commentary, hoping to entertain Kent through his boring day of meetings and other end-of-season obligations.

They've just set foot in the third apartment of the day, though, and Bitty is too captivated to reach for his phone.

“The kitchen?” Jack asks him.

The funny thing is, though—it isn't that. Bitty is staring at the wall of windows, the way they light up the room and sunlight dapples through the trees outside to glint off the hardwood. He watches a bird flutter off of a branch and into the sky.

“Can you give us a minute?” Jack asks the realtor.

Bitty hears the door shut behind them. He reaches out blindly, hitting Jack's elbow and tracing his fingers down his arm, getting him to look. There's a whole wall of exposed brick and the windows are nearly floor-to-ceiling, and Bitty thinks about how the brick would feel against his shoulders, pictures Jack bare-chested and holding a coffee, watching the birds, Bitty coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around his waist.

Jack tugs Bitty against his chest and nuzzles against his ear, murmuring, “I've never seen you speechless before, eh?”

“Sorry,” Bitty says. He folds a hand over Jack's wrist. “I just…”

Jack kisses his temple.

Bitty turns to the side, resting his cheek against Jack's collarbone, staring at the kitchen. It's an entirely open-concept space—a big island with a granite countertop marking the transition out of the living room, the same wall of windows illuminating the grey, sparkling counters.

“I can see it,” Bitty tells him. Placing the couch in his mind, the television, the art on the walls. Friends strewn about the place, even Shitty and Lardo sneaking out onto the balcony to smoke up. “Please tell me you love it.”

“I, uh, I'm not sure I get it,” Jack answers, and Bitty starts to frown. “But…I love anything that makes you smile like that.”

He squeezes Bitty tighter, and Bitty tilts his head to beam up at him. “Sweetheart.”

Jack takes one hand off of Bitty to fish his phone out of his pocket. “Will you humor me?”

Bitty laughs and shoots him a curious look, but agrees, “Um, sure?”

“Great.” Jack leads him towards the island, where he sets his phone down on the counter and taps something on the screen.

Music starts to play.

“Oh,” says Bitty.

It's a country song, something Bitty doesn't recognize right away, slow and warm like the way Jack looks at him on the roof at night, in that half hour when the sun is setting and the streetlights haven't come on and you can almost see the stars.

“Oh,” Bitty says again. “Oh, Jack.”

Jack slides a hand onto Bitty's waist and offers the other one for him to take, and looks at him like that now.

Bitty steps in close, lacing their fingers together and resting his head against Jack's chest. He closes his eyes and lets Jack lead, clumsily and a little off beat, and thinks for a wild instant that he wishes his mother could see.

That this is what she meant, when she said she wanted to be there.

She wouldn't want this for him. Not the way it really is, or with the things underneath, but the adjacent bones. He thinks that she could find him here in this kitchen—in love and dancing and within viewing distance of a maple tree—and at least let him stay.

Jack steps on Bitty's foot and he laughs brightly, scuffing a shoe along the tile. They look at each other, bodies still drifting to the music, and kiss.

The second chorus kicks in, and Jack lifts the hand on Bitty's hip to cup his face, and breaks their kiss to murmur along.

_ Honey, I stay stoned on your love all the time. _

Bitty shakes his head in wonder, looking at him, shivering in the light cast from the windows. The song fades out, and Jack leans back in.

 

~*~ 

 

Jack signs the lease that afternoon. They cancel the remaining tours and Bitty takes a video walkthrough of the entire apartment for Kent, on the verge of tears as he gushes about how beautiful it is. The place isn't really  _ his,  _ he knows—except that it could be, if he asked, if the way Jack is still humming that song as he hands Bitty a coffee is any indication.

Bitty snaps a picture of the latte art on his drink.  _ Cutest little cafe just a block from the apartment!! _

Kent facetimes him three minutes later.

Bitty hurries to plug his headphones in and says, “Hi, honey!” as the call connects—then frowns when he sees Kent's face. “Is everything okay?”

“Jesus,” Kent says, more to himself than anything. “I feel like such a dick.”

He's back at his apartment, curled up on the couch with Kit's tail flicking him in the face. He runs a hand through his hair and looks away from the camera.

Bitty pushes his mug away from himself and stands up. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” Kent sighs. “Just, could you, like, cool it with the pics?”

Bitty tries to shoot Jack a look and gets a blank stare in return. He echoes Kent's sigh and heads for the door as he asks, “The pictures? Why?”

Kent says, “It's stupid, I just—” as the door jingles. He's still staring off-screen, no idea at what. “I guess I'm jealous.”

“Oh,” says Bitty. He squints in the sun, almost reaches for his sunglasses but wants Kent to see his face. “I'm...I'm sorry, honey, I didn't mean to—”

“It's stupid. I'm not, like—I don't get this way.” Kent looks at the camera. He doesn't look angry, like Jack gets when he's jealous. 

He scrubs at his eyes and drops the angle on his phone, like it's dangling from a hand.

Bitty looks across the street at a couple getting into their car and says, “It's not stupid. I'll stop sending pictures.”

Kent says, “Thanks.”

The couple drives away. The building behind their car is a lawyer's office. Bitty looks at his screen again and asks, “But, um—that's not really what you wanted, is it?”

Kent laughs and leans his head back against Kit's fur.

Maybe that's why there were so many people in suits in the coffee shop—the lawyers.

“I'm not gonna leave you,” Bitty reminds him gently.

Kent's throat bobs and his head tilts back further. “You don't have to, for it to be—I dunno. I just, I thought—do you even miss me?”

Bitty looks for a place to sit—the cafe has outdoor tables, but they're all taken. He starts walking instead.

“Of course I do,” he says, glancing through the window to look for Jack and not finding him before he speeds past. “Sweetheart, how could you even ask that?”

“'Cause you were gonna visit this summer, and now we're going to the beach house instead 'cause Jack didn't wanna come,” Kent answers. He fixes the camera angle when he looks down at it, eyes flicking back and forth. “And you could be here, looking at apartments with me, but you're not.”

It's hot out. Bitty wipes at the sweat on his forehead, tugging the headphone cord out of the way, and says, “Baby, you know how soon graduation is.”

Kent shakes his head. “I just—you said you can't keep doing long distance, and now you're apartment hunting with Jack? What am I supposed to think?”

Bitty turns on his heels and starts walking the other direction. “That—that when we got together, I—you said I wouldn't have to choose, and I'm  _ not.” _

“And then you said  _ nine,  _ Eric.” Kent's voice cracks. Bitty is walking into the sun. He reaches for his glasses again. “And I thought it meant something, that—that you loved me more. But you still choose him—every fucking time.”

The world tints orange. Bitty feels light-headed suddenly, from the heat. He insists, “I don't do that.”

“I feel like I'm pouring fucking everything out that I have,” Kent says. He wipes at his eyes again, jerky and one-handed, but the signal isn't clear enough for Bitty to make out the tears. “And it doesn't even matter because Zimms just  _ breathes  _ and fucking gets whatever he wants.”

“You  _ know  _ that's not true,” Bitty says. 

He thinks about the windows in the apartment, Jack asking the agent to leave. He's not ashamed, but he's glad that Kent can't know.

Kent says, “I get it, I sound crazy.”

“You don't,” Bitty says. He's paced this half block twice. His neck hurts from looking down at his phone. “But, baby, I love you so much. I'm not trying to—to—”

“I don't care that you're with Jack.” Kent looks away again, his face brushing Kit's side, and back. His apartment seems bright. “I just wanna know that we meant something, that I wasn't some asshole you were fucking with and now…”

And now what?

Bitty doesn't know how to say it. How he loved Kent to the point of a ruined throat, cracked lips. How loving Kent is running barefoot into the forest and finding a wild, strange thing rustling in the molding leaves and diving in to catch it, free and suffocating, and he still wasn't thinking about Kent at all when he danced in the kitchen to a parody of his mother's choreography.

He still wants the dirt in his mouth, when he remembers. But it wouldn't cancel out the hurt.

“Please never think that,” he says instead, forcing his voice steady. He pushes the sunglasses off his face and braces for the blinding moment. “Oh my God, honey, you're so much more than that.”

When he can keep his eyes open again, Kent is red-cheeked and pressing his knuckles to his mouth.

Bitty says, “I can go apartment hunting with Jack. I can love him, and spend every weekend at his place, or I could never see him again. But none of that— _ none _ of that—can change how I feel about you.”

Kent's camera is shaky as he whispers, “I hope you're right.”

_ Me too.  _ Bitty turns and leans against the wall; it's brick, like the apartment. “How about this, honey—we'll take the whole week of the concert to ourselves. Just you and me, whatever you wanna do.”

Kent perks up, though his voice is cautious. “Zimms is gonna be bummed.”

“I'll talk to him,” Bitty promises. He's not sure when—after the ink dries.

Kent even smiles. He sits up straighter, draping an arm over his knee, and says, “Yeah. Okay.”

“Yeah?” Bitty smiles too, watching it waver.

“Thank you.” Kent runs a hand through his hair. “I love you. Thank you, Eric.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bitty says. He closes his eyes, tilting his face up to the sky. A tear rolls down his cheek anyway—unsure of for what. “Kenny, you know how much I love you.”

Kent says, “Yeah.”

Bitty looks at him, the wistful thing on his face, and has to glance away from his own in the corner.

“I should let you get back to it,” Kent says.

Bitty's coffee is probably cold. He wonders if they'd ice it for him—he should’ve ordered it that way in the first place, except that Jack got it for him.

“Prob'ly,” he answers, rolling the headphone cord between his fingers.

Kent smiles at him and ventures, “Two weeks.”

“Two weeks,” Bitty echoes. He bites his lip, smiling back. “I can't wait, baby.”

 

~*~

 

Graduation and his time in Georgia pass by in a blur. Bitty's cautious around Coach at first, wondering if Mama told him anything, but he's as gruff and distant as ever. And Mama—

She tsks at his hair, running her fingers through the short buzz on the side, and doesn't wake him up for church the next morning. 

He's not sure who it's for. 

And then he's back on a plane, Señor Bun tucked safely in his suitcase, and watching himself touch down in North Carolina. 

Kent's plane is landing forty-five minutes after his, and Jack will be waiting for them in a rental car outside the airport. Bitty wheels his suitcase over to Kent's gate and sits looking at his phone, waiting, until passengers start flowing into the terminal.

“Bits!” Kent says, and Bitty jumps to his feet.

Kent laughs as Bitty launches into his arms, and holds him tight. 

“Sorry,” Bitty murmurs. He tugs free sheepishly, looking around. A few people are staring, but not suspiciously. “I just—”

Kent hugs him again, brushing his nose against Bitty's temple. “Thank you.”

Bitty waits for Kent to pull away first this time. When he does, Bitty takes his phone back out and says, “I'll tell Jack we're coming.”

Kent hums and slings an arm around Bitty's shoulders, leading the way as they walk and Bitty texts. 

They find Jack leaning against the rental car in the parking deck and Bitty gives him a more modest hug, knowing he's shyer in public than Kent is. 

He and Kent do a bro-shake, and then Kent is replacing his arm around Bitty's shoulders and Jack's eyes are narrowing. Bitty shuffles closer to Kent's side self-consciously, even though that does the opposite of solving the problem.

But Jack just says, “Let's head out, eh? I want you to see the house before the sun sets.”

Kent calls shotgun and hops up front with his feet up on the dashboard, and Bitty rolls his eyes and climbs into the back seat with their bags. They make it out of the airport and hit the highway, Jack's ridiculous country music somehow continuing to play from the radio without Kent even attempting to interfere.

“You didn't grow outta your country phase, huh, Zimms?” Kent chirps when Jack turns up a Tim McGraw song.

Bitty catches Jack's eye roll in the rear view mirror, and then bites back a smile when Jack takes a hand off the wheel and rests it on Kent's thigh without a word.

 

~*~

 

The beach house is beautiful—old, sandblasted wood with peeling paint and a mermaid on the mailbox. It's up on stilts and they have to haul their luggage up stairs that are probably older than all of them combined, but it means the porch has a gorgeous view of the ocean.

Bitty leans against the back railing and watches the ocean in favor of going inside. It isn't a particularly crowded beach, but there are scattered groups of people out and about.

“Hey,” says Kent, coming up next to him. 

Bitty smiles at him and nearly reaches for his hand, when a woman's voice calls out, “Hullo! Y'all must be Jack's friends.”

Startled, Bitty turns towards the voice and locks eyes with a dark-haired woman, maybe five or ten years younger than his mother, who waves at him from the neighboring porch.

“Um, hello!” Bitty answers, waving back. “I'm Eric, pleased to meet ya.”

Kent waves to her too. “I'm Kent.”

“Val,” says the woman. She gestures towards the beach. “My husband an’ the kids are down by the water. We met Jack this mornin’, said he was havin’ friends meet him.”

“That'll be us,” Bitty confirms, laughing. He's pretty sure that Val doesn't recognize either Kent or Jack, but he can't be sure. “Looks like we're neighbors! Are y'all here all summer?”

Val nods and explains, “A lotta us on this strip come here every year. It's nice to see new faces, though!”

Kent nudges his forearm against Bitty's on the banister. “Yeah, it's cool meeting you. You've gotta give us the low-down—like, what's the best ice cream place?”

Val laughs, but Bitty rolls his eyes fondly. “Of  _ course _ that's your first question.”

“We actually swear by the frozen custard place down the road,” Val says, still smiling at them. She gestures with one hand as she gives directions. “It's two streets up that way, then maybe three blocks left?”

Kent's eyes go as big as saucers. He turns to Bitty and plants both hands on his shoulders and says, “Eric, if you love me you'll come get custard with me  _ right now.” _

“Well,” Bitty says, shooting Val an exasperated look over Kent's shoulder, “I suppose I can't argue with that. We better see if Jack wants to come, though.”

Kent bolts into the house through the back door with a delighted,  _ “Zimms!”  _

Val laughs again and tells Bitty, “Seems like your friend is a handful.”

There's a suspicious crash from inside the house.

“Can't argue there either,” says Bitty.

 

~*~

 

It turns out that Jack doesn't want to go get frozen custard, but he does want Bitty and Kent to bring him back a waffle cone. By the time they've returned, custard dripping down their hands and a streak of chocolate charmingly high on Kent's cheek, Jack has unpacked all their bags and is peacefully reading on the couch.

“Hey, Zimms,” Kent greets in a sing-song voice.

Jack looks up from his book warily. “Kenny, don't—”

Kent bellyflops into Jack's lap, his waffle cone held up precariously in the air, and Jack grunts as he holds his book out of reach.

“Seriously?” Jack asks dryly. “You'll stain the couch.”

Kent wiggles around onto his back and bites lightly at Jack's tricep. “I'll make  _ you  _ stain the couch.”

“That doesn't even make sense,” Jack answers patiently, but he puts the book down and slides a hand over Kent's stomach.

Bitty leans against the wall, smiling warmly. He's got his own half-eaten cone in one hand and Jack's untouched one in the other, which may or may not dripping onto the carpet.

“Ice cream first,” he warns, probably uselessly, as Jack's hand slips south. “Then sex.”

Kent lifts his head to look Bitty in the eye, acting rather offended for someone who has Jack Zimmermann cupping his balls through his jeans.  _ “Custard.” _

They can get carpet cleaner in the morning. Bitty rolls his eyes and says, “If that's the tone you're gonna take, you can come last.”

“Psh,” Kent chirps. “Who was gonna otherwise, Zimms? As if.”

“Hey!” says Jack.

Bitty gives up and shoves the waffle cones into the freezer, dropping them into Ziploc bags for safe-keeping.

Kent says, “I'm just saying, man, you've always had a hair trigger and recent evidence suggests— _ ow, _ hey, watch the—”

The frozen custard drops from Kent's hand as Jack pins him to the couch, a knee trapping him by the hip and his wrists flexing under Jack's hands. 

Kent laughs desperately and tries to buck Jack off to no avail, grinning up at him even as he says, “Fuck you, asshole.”

Jack dips down to kiss him and murmurs, “If Bittle says it's okay.”

“I've got a few ideas,” Bitty says absently, watching the way Kent's teeth pull against Jack's lip. He rescues the ruined waffle cone from the floor and dumps it in the trash, then washes his hands in the sink.

This might be a record for the fastest forfeit of a security deposit. Oblivious, Kent and Jack have gone back to making out on the couch. 

“Boys,” Bitty tsks from the kitchen. “We've got a perfectly good bed.”

A very large bed. Bitty made a point of insisting on that.

Jack turns his head sheepishly, his mouth already red and damp from kissing Kent. “Ah, sorry.”

He sits back on his heels, letting Kent up, and carefully avoids the chocolate stain on the carpet. Satisfied, Bitty leads them both into the bedroom and starts hunting for their toys.

“What're you looking for?” Jack asks.

“The rope,” Bitty answers without turning around.

“Shit,” Kent asks excitedly, “for who?”

Jack pulls a suitcase out from under the bed and tosses it onto the mattress. 

Bitty takes it with a pat on Jack's hand and opens it up, finding everything tucked inside. He traces an idle finger along the curve of the rope and says, “For Jack.”

Kent makes a face.

“Aww, don't pout, sweetheart.” Bitty opens his arms. “I've got plans for you, too. C'mere.”

Kent shuffles over and kisses him obediently, holding onto Bitty by the hips. 

“Jack,” Bitty says between kisses, “get undressed, honey.”

He can hear the sound of Jack obeying, softly from somewhere to his right, but he keeps his focus on Kent's face. The sweet freckles and hungry eyes, and that mouth of his that Bitty still can't believe he gets to slip his fingers into.

Kent sucks dutifully, tongue pressing up against the pressure Bitty puts. 

Bitty pulls his hand away and kisses Kent on the nose. “How d'you feel about name-calling today, baby?”

“Yes, please,” Kent says. His gaze diverts to Jack, who's waiting naked and very still, with his hands curling at his sides.

Bitty grabs the rope and then sets the suitcase back onto the floor, smiling appraisingly at Jack. “Well, then, Kenny, if you're good for me today, I might even let you play with our toy here.”

Jack flushes and looks down at his cock, which is perking up. 

“Fuck,” says Kent.

“Let's get him ready until then,” Bitty says, handing Kent the rope. He walks over to Jack and runs his hands up Jack's arms, squeezing lightly as he reminds him, “Remember, Jack, you can say your color even if I'm not paying attention to you.”

Jack nods, flashing him a small smile. “Yeah.”

“Up on the bed, then.” Bitty pats him on the thigh, shooting Kent a pleased smile, and Jack scrambles up without an ounce of grace. He lets Bitty arrange him like a doll, arms above his head and lightly propped up against the pillows.

They make quick work of tying him to the headboard after that, Bitty letting Kent do the real work while he traces his hands down Jack's body, thumbs roaming over nipples and his fingers tickling Jack's ribs, and watches him twitch.

“Isn't he beautiful?” Bitty asks softly, tracing a hip bone.

“Fuck,” Kent breathes out again, stepping away from the finished knotwork. “Fuck, Zimms.”

Bitty slides up behind Kent and sucks lightly at his neck, murmuring, “Tell me what you'd do to get his dick.”

“Anything,” Kent says immediately. He's melting back into Bitty's chest, breath quickening. “Please.”

“That's right,” Bitty agrees warmly, slipping a hand around and nudging it into Kent's jeans, popping the button open to give himself room. “You're so slutty for it, baby.”

Kent tries to hitch his hips up and get his cock to brush against Bitty's hand, but Bitty hums disapprovingly and pulls away.

“You've gotta earn that first.” He drags his nails up Kent's abs instead, feeling the definition when Kent tenses. “What'll you give me?”

Kent whines. “Anything.”

“Hmm.” Bitty pulls Kent's shirt over his head and then turns him around so he can watch Kent's face as he tilts his head. “Is Jack's the only cock you want, baby?”

Kent brings his hands up to Bitty's shorts tentatively, looking up at him from under his eyelashes. “No.”

Bitty cups the side of his face and thumbs at his bottom lip. “That's right,” he agrees. “You're so greedy for it, right, baby? Such a good little slut for me—for us.”

“Can I?” Kent asks breathlessly, his fingers trembling. 

Jack whispers, “Please.”

“Wait your turn, honey,” Bitty tells him absently, and slides his fingers into Kent's hair to push him to his knees.

Kent goes fluidly, with a soft thud that makes Bitty's heart skip a beat, and fumbles to get Bitty's pants off.

He manages it quickly, shoves Bitty's underwear halfway down his thighs, and swallows him down in one fluid motion.

“Oh,  _ fuck,”  _ Bitty pants. He braces a hand on the bed and grips the other in Kent's hair. “Oh my God, it's like—like I paid for it. Fuck, you—did you whore yourself out to practice for me, sweet thing?”

Kent presses his nose into Bitty's pubic hair and quivers.

“How many, hm?” Bitty pets Kent's hair and then traces his hand down as Kent starts to suck him, nudging his fingers against the seam of Kent's lips. “How many people did you—let fuck—this mouth for me?”

Kent whines from deep in his throat as he pulls back again, tilting his face up to look at Bitty. He's hard in his jeans and there are tears pricking at his eyes, which feels soon. But they're good tears, the kind that make his eyes glisten like his spit-shiny mouth—the kind that say  _ I love you  _ when he can't use his teeth to enunciate.

“Keep goin’,” Bitty urges softly, twitching his hips to offer encouragement. He won't last like this, which is good news for Jack, who is straining against his ropes like he can somehow flip onto his stomach and get friction on his dick.

Kent goes back to work, pushing into Bitty's touch and working him over, and—God, he's so good, so good at this. Bitty wants to keep him for himself.

The possessiveness is a heady feeling—makes Bitty fist his hand in Kent's hair a little too tight, based on the uncharacteristically high-pitched noise Kent makes—but Kent drops a hand off of Bitty's hip to grope his ass and takes him all the way down again, so maybe not.

“Gonna come, baby,” Bitty pants. He can feel his knees threatening to give out, drops to his forearm on the bed. “Where—where do you want—”

Kent presses his tongue against the underside of Bitty's dick and drags Bitty's hand down to his throat.

_ Fuck. Fuck.  _ Bitty gasps and flattens his palm, feels the way Kent's hand covers his own, nearly sobs.

“Wanna feel it,” he says. Not cutting off Kent's air, but pushing back when his throat bobs against him. “Wanna feel it when you take it.”

Kent does sob, or maybe chokes on his spit, and Bitty will never admit that it's the sound that does it.

He comes hard, barely gasping out a warning, feels how desperately Kent has to work to swallow, comes harder.

“God,” Bitty says after.  _ “God.” _

Kent opens his mouth and lets Bitty's softening dick fall out, sinking back onto his heels so he can look up at Bitty's face where he's braced above him.

It's funny, because Bitty always expects him to be smirking after, but he never is—he’s just looking up wide-eyed, his lips still parted, and asking, “Was I good enough?”

Bitty can't catch his breath. He sinks to the ground and presses his face into Kent's neck and says, “Of course, of course you were.”

How could he forget he wants this? Even for a second, even in Jack's arms.

He's come-drunk. Shaking a little, making a fool of himself. He cups Kent's jaw and looks him in the eye and steadies his voice. “You get your reward now, darlin’.”

Kent brightens. “Yeah?”

Bitty hauls them both to their feet and traces a hand along Jack's leg, squeezing his knee. “And look how  _ patient  _ he's been, waiting.”

Jack perks up instantly, lifting his head and flexing against the ties. “Yes,” he says. “Please.”

Bitty slides his hand up to Jack's dick next, which is leaking against his stomach.

“Hmm,” Bitty says, wrapping his other hand around Kent's waist and undoing his zipper. “Which part d'you think got him hard, sweetheart? Watchin’ us or getting ignored while we did it?”

“All of it,” Jack gasps, hips bucking as soon as Bitty teases his cock. “Fuck, Bittle, please, I can't—”

Bitty tsks at him and takes his hand away, using it to spank Jack's flank instead. “I thought I said to wait your turn, honey.”

Jack closes his eyes and whispers, “Sorry.”

“That's alright,” Bitty soothes. He uses both hands to finish undressing Kent, helping him step out of his pants and underwear. “You've been very good, honey. I'll still let you play with Kent.”

He urges Kent up on to the bed and slips off his own shirt, watching as Kent crawls over to Jack immediately and kisses him. They're both grown, powerful men, but Bitty can see the teenager underneath when they're together—the clumsy instinct and over-enthusiasm, Jack's wrists straining ineffectually and Kent reaching up to hold his hand anyway, lacing their fingers together.

Bitty nearly considers untying Jack and backing away, letting them have this to themselves—but he's not that selfless. Not tonight.

Instead, he moves around to the head of the bed and runs a hand through Kent's hair.

Kent doesn't even come up for air, just hums vaguely at him and keeps kissing Jack.

“Kenny,” Bitty presses gently. “What do you want?”

Kent laughs into Jack's mouth, then finally glances up. He licks his lips and says, “Wanna ride him.”

Bitty grins. “Yeah?”

Kent looks down again, watching Jack's face, and asks, “Can I, Zimms?”

Jack turns to look at Bitty.

_ Sweet boy.  _ Bitty touches his cheek, nodding his approval.

“Yeah,” says Jack.

Kent squeezes Jack's hand and then sits up, locking eyes with Bitty to ask, “Can we untie him? I want—”

He doesn't finish the sentence, but Bitty's already tugging the knots loose.

“There you go, honey,” he murmurs to Jack, helping him rub the circulation back into his wrists.

Kent tugs on Bitty’s arm, then, and kisses him. This doesn't feel like a scene anymore and it's—jarring isn't the word, but he can't find another one. Itchy, under his fingernails, enough so that Bitty breaks their kiss early.

“Do you, um.” Bitty worries at his lip, eyes closed. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Nah,” Kent assures him. He bumps their foreheads together. “Please stay?”

Bitty sighs with...relief. He kisses Kent again, teeth tugging gently, and teases, “Since you asked nicely.”

Kent chuckles as he pulls away, and Bitty crouches down to get lube and condoms out of the suitcase. He tosses the bottle to Kent and then climbs on to the bed to keep Jack occupied while Kent works himself open.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bitty says, dipping down to kiss Jack. He teases a nipple gently between his fingers, smiling when Jack shivers.

Jack's arms are free now, but he doesn't move them. He rocks his hips up, though, moaning softly. 

“Let's get you ready,” Bitty tells him, slinking down his body and pulling a condom out. He rips open the packet and takes up Jack's dick, stroking and teasing him a few times like he isn't hard enough and Bitty needs to get him there.

“Fuck, Bittle.” Jack wriggles under Bitty's hand. “Please.”

Bitty laughs softly and rolls the condom on for him, then pats Jack on the thigh.

“Ready, babe?” Kent asks, though Bitty's not sure to who.

He says, “All yours,” and shifts away to give Kent room, laying on his side with his arm propped up on the pillows and cheek resting in his palm.

Kent takes Bitty's place and braces over Jack, then slides a hand up his chest. “Hey, Zimms.”

“Kenny,” Jack answers. He's breathing hard as he grips the base of his dick to help Kent sink down, his other hand tracing up Kent's spine. “Been a while, eh?”

Kent drops his head to Jack's shoulder. “Y-yeah.”

And, Lord, do they look good together. Solid muscle, Kent compact and deadly and Jack built like a tank, and the way Kent's mouth falls open every time Jack jerks his hips.

Bitty wonders if they fucked at all, the last time Kent visited Samwell—maybe not, given how much they were fighting over Bitty. 

Kent gasps and grips Jack's jaw, turning him into a desperate kiss as he picks up speed.

At least, probably not like this.

“Oh, fuck,” says Kent. He's riding Jack like it's killing him, like he'll die when he stops. “Jack,  _ Jack.” _

Jack cards his fingers through Kent's hair, pressing Kent’s face into his neck and his mouth against Kent's ear. “Kenny, I've got you.”

_ They could leave me,  _ Bitty thinks, for the first time. It hadn't occurred to him, fully, but Jack's other hand slips through the sweat on Kent's back as he rolls them over and Bitty has to scoot out of the way of Kent's sobbing grasp, the hand fisting in the sheets.

“Don't stop,” Kent is begging, heels digging into the small of Jack's back, tears or sweat or both rolling down his cheeks as Jack pounds into him. “God, Jesus, oh God, Jack.”

Bitty's close enough to touch, but he won't. They wouldn't leave. He knows that.

“Gotta,” Jack pants. His arms are shaking and he drops, covering Kent with his body and barely moving his hips as Kent starts to fuck himself on his dick instead. “Fuck, you're gonna make me—”

“Yeah.” Kent laughs wildly and rocks up hard. “Yeah, c'mon, babe.”

Jack hides his face when he comes and trembles while Kent shushes him, pets his hair, keeps using his body in the aftershocks until Jack's softening dick slips free entirely and the condom threatens to spill.

Bitty's mouth waters, listening to Jack's ragged breathing. He grabs the condom when Kent tosses it aside, tying it off and setting it on the nightstand before bringing a hand down to his own dick.

He probably won't be able to come again this soon, but it still feels good to touch himself while Jack collects himself enough to slather two fingers with more lube and shove them inside Kent.

“Jesus,” Kent hisses. He reaches down to palm his dick. “Someone's more fucking considerate—oh, fuck, right there—considerate these days.”

Jack presses an open-mouthed kiss to Kent's chest. “Bittle trained me.”

Bitty laughs and says, “You're doin’ very good, baby.”

Kent's head lolls to the side and he and Bitty lock eyes. 

“Thank you,” Kent says, and Bitty knows he doesn't mean just for this.

He reaches out and drags his fingers down Kent's mouth, catching on his bottom lip. “You're welcome, darling.”

Kent's eyes flutter shut as his back arches. “Babe, babe—close.”

Jack scrapes his teeth over Kent's nipple and then sucks, his wrist twisting, and Kent's hand flies over his dick as he comes in quick spurts.

“Jesus,” says Kent. His eyes are still closed as his chest heaves. 

Jack pulls his fingers out and then splats on top of Kent, come-covered stomach and all. His hair is damp with sweat and his eyes are starting to go unfocused, staring at Bitty.

“Lord,” Bitty whispers. Something complicated swells up in his chest. He can't name it, but it makes him run his fingers through that mop of hair with a kind of longing. “My sweet, beautiful boys.”

Jack closes his eyes.

“Bits,” Kent mumbles. He flails a lazy arm at him. “C'mere.”

Bitty has no interest in denying him.

 

~*~

 

A few days later, Bitty is tanning on the beach and watching Jack attempt to chuck Kent into the ocean when Val sits down next to him.

“Water ain't your thing?” she asks him conversationally, spreading out a beach towel.

Bitty laughs and stretches out languidly. “Oh, that's not the issue, but I want  _ no  _ part in that roughhousin’. It's sorta their thing.”

Val laughs with him. “Those two act like kids together.”

“They've known each other since high school,” Bitty says. He quirks his lips fondly when Kent ducks low and tries to take Jack down with a shoulder to the hip. “That's probably why.”

“That'll do it,” Val agrees. “I'd say you could take shelter at our place, but my husband and our girls are no better.”

Bitty jumps when both Jack and Kent get bowled over by a wave, but they resurface and go back to wrestling. “Oh, that's sweet, but I don't mind. They know to keep my out of it. How old are your girls?”

They chat pleasantly for a while after that, until Kent and Jack come stumbling out of the water and skid to a halt at Bitty's feet.

Bitty thinks he hears Val quietly gasp, which he can't blame her for—two professional hockey players are a sight to behold, shirtless and dripping wet. He presses his tongue to the back of his teeth to suppress the urge to lick his lips and preen.

“Bits, come swim!” Kent wheedles. He shakes his head out like a dog, flicking saltwater onto Bitty's sunglasses.

Bitty hums, looking between him and Jack, who's waiting patiently with his hands clasped.

“Okay,” Bitty decides. He brushes the sand off his swimsuit and warns, “But if you try to dunk me, Kent, I swear to—”

Kent places a hand over his chest. “Babe, scout's  _ honor.” _

“Fine,” Bitty says, breezing over the pet name even as Jack shoots Kent a look. “Let's go.”

Kent, the ridiculous man he is, crouches down as if offering Bitty a piggyback ride. “Your chariot, good sir.”

“Oh my God,” Bitty says. He rolls his eyes at Val, who raises an eyebrow at him, but there's nothing for it. “Why not.”

He hops on Kent's back and Kent takes off in a clumsy run for the ocean, Jack shouting, “Hey!” and following close behind.

The water splashes up onto Bitty's calves as the waves start to break against Kent's legs. It's colder than he expected, but not unwelcomingly so after so long in the sun.

“You know,” Bitty says in Kent's ear, “you never told me you were a boy scout.”

Kent laughs, squeezing Bitty's ankle. “Dude, I was totally kidding—I'm not.”

Bitty goes rigid as the panic flares. “Kent please don't drop me I really meant—”

Kent lowers Bitty to the ground in a gentle, fluid motion, twisting and stabilizing him by the hips as a wave breaks against Kent's back and they stumble. He pulls Bitty close, his nose brushing into his hair.

Jack hisses, “We're in public.”

“I wouldn't,” Kent murmurs. Another wave hits, the roar rushing past Bitty's face. He closes his eyes. “I wouldn't.”

Bitty breathes in deeply, gets nothing but the tang of saltwater. He hears the next wave building and tucks his face under Kent's chin to brace for it, arms going tight around Kent's middle. 

“C'mon, babe,” Kent says after. He nuzzles against Bitty's hair and then pulls away. “Let's swim—and stop giving Zimms a fucking aneurysm.”

“Thanks,” Jack says dryly.

Bitty laughs shakily, taking a step back. The next wave is small, but there's a bigger one rolling up on the horizon. He grabs for Kent's hand and dives, leading them both under the break.

 

~*~

 

They come in from the water about an hour later and declare it group nap time. Bitty wins rock paper scissors for the coveted middle spot, tucking himself against Kent's chest and smiling as Jack half-spoons him from the other side. It's rather stuffy under the blanket and he's decently sure that no one remembered to put deodorant on after they showered, but those are problems for post-nap Bitty.

He wakes up an unclear amount of time later, this time curled up the other way with Kent spooning him and clearly awake, nuzzling sleepily at the nape of his neck.

“Mm,” Bitty says. He opens his eyes and finds Jack sprawled out and still sleeping, a mark from his pillow on one cheek.

Kent mumbles, “Hey,” and tilts Bitty's face for a kiss.

Bitty happily obliges. His body is hot and sticky all over, and he kicks the comforter down to their waists—Jack grumbles in his sleep and tugs the blanket back over himself, yanking it off of Bitty and Kent entirely.

“Oops,” Bitty whispers, giggling.

Kent huffs out a laugh. He slips a thigh between Bitty's legs, rocking it temptingly. “You horny?”

Bitty grinds lazily, his kisses turning into sloppy, half-open-mouthed things, and says, “Mhm.”

“Same.” Kent slides his hand into Bitty's hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. “Maybe we could—I mean, if you wanna, I could fuck you?”

Bitty tightens his grip on Kent's bare back, fingertips scrabbling for purchase. 

“Maybe not today?” he asks, not entirely sure why, except that Jack could wake up and he doesn't want anyone to see, to see him— “Maybe the concert, we'll make it really...really special?”

Kent takes it in stride, even if he huffs out a laugh. He kisses the corner of Bitty's mouth and mumbles, “M'kay. S'nice.”

Bitty pushes on Kent's shoulder, urging him to lay flat on his back.

Kent blinks up at him, a pleasantly bewildered smirk on his face. “What's…?”

“Shh,” Bitty tells him. He slinks down, hands dragging along Kent's thighs, and presses a kiss to his hip. “Don't wake Jack.”

Apparently Kent gets with the picture, because he puts the side of his palm between his teeth and bites down.

Bitty would smile, if his mouth weren't full. 

He sucks Kent down as far as he can, which honestly isn't much, but he uses a hand to make up the difference. Blowjobs are harder than he remembers them being—there's so  _ much  _ in his mouth.

He's sucked Jack off, obviously, but that's usually as a punishment once he's already come, and he never gets all the way hard again. But Kent is heavy and dripping on his tongue, and Bitty realizes with a start that he hasn't done this with anyone since before.

“Fuck,” Kent moans softly. He's got an arm over his eyes and the other hand gripping the sheets. 

Bitty braces a forearm against one of Kent's thighs for balance and uses the other hand in time with his mouth, shivering as he drools over his own knuckles.

It's objectively a little gross, but Kent is falling apart above him and it makes him hotter for it in a way that feels almost like pride—that he'd cover himself in spit and hunch at the foot of the bed like he's praying, for the man he loves.

“Fuck, Eric.” Kent reaches out, fingers hitting Bitty's hair. “Fuck, please.”

Bitty pushes his head into the touch. If he can do this—

“You two woke up the entire Haus with your fucking,” Jack grumbles. He rolls over onto Kent's upper-body with a heavy thump. “And you thought you wouldn't ruin my nap?”

Bitty freezes uneasily, but Kent is distracted anyway, pulling Jack into a kiss.

“Mm,” Kent says. “You mean made your nap hella awesome.”

Jack trails a hand down Kent's neck and chest, pausing to toy with a nipple. “No comment.”

Bitty keeps his eyes tilted up on Jack's face as he goes back to blowing Kent. The heady feeling is gone and he can feel everything with a crispness he doesn't want, didn't ask for.

But he can still feel Kent twitching under him, can taste musky salt on his tongue and think about the ocean, and it's bearable. 

“Close,” Kent warns, and Bitty takes more of him into his mouth and almost gags, pulling back again just in time. He tries again, shifting the angle, and hums with satisfaction when he tastes the come on his tongue.

Bitty pulls off as he swallows, massaging his jaw. He grins up at Kent, who is decidedly too fucked out to look at him.

Kent does say, “C'mere, I gotcha,” though, and flails a hand in Bitty's general direction.

Jack laughs at him.

“Oh, don't worry about me, honey,” Bitty says. He crawls up to cuddle, though, flopping down on Kent's other side so he doesn't dislodge Jack. “That was your treat.”

That prompts Kent to open his eyes and give Bitty an indignant look. “Fuck that, lemme get you off.”

Bitty hums noncommittally, wiggling when Kent cups a hand around his semi.

“Oh, uh.” Kent moves his hand away, resting it on Bitty's thigh instead. “Unless you don't want—”

Bitty cuts him off with a kiss, covering Kent's hand with his own. They make out for a few minutes, he assumes with Jack watching, before he rocks his newly re-aroused dick against Kent's thigh.

Kent squeezes Bitty's hand and murmurs, “Can I?”

“Yeah,” Bitty says. “Please.”

 

~*~

 

They've got a few days left before the week of the concert, during which time Jack claims he'll “enjoy some peace and quiet, eh?” until Kent and Bitty roll back into town. Bitty suspects he might be lonely, though, and hints that Shitty may or may not be dying for an excuse to ditch his family for a little while.

Jack appears to be mulling that over when Kent comes in from the beach, having manifested a six pack of beer and looking suspiciously pleased with himself.

“Babes!” he says, plunking the beer on the counter next to Jack's arm. “You know Tony from like three houses down?”

Bitty shares a fondly exasperated smile with Jack. “I am familiar with Tony from like three houses down, yes.”

Kent wraps his arms around Bitty's waist and hooks his chin over his shoulder. “He told me there's a sick club like a mile and a half inland. We should go!”

Bitty jumps up delightedly, but Jack frowns and says, “Ah, I'm not sure that's a good idea.”

“Aww, honey.” Bitty turns the full force of his pout on him. “Please?”

“Yeah, babe,  _ please?”  _ Kent even bats his eyelashes. 

Jack stares them down for a long moment, then hangs his head and sighs with resignation. 

Bitty takes that as permission to skip into the bedroom and get changed, rooting through his drawer in their shared dresser. He pulls out his favorite pair of shorts and a muscle tank, and then his fingers bump up on something that Jack must have nestled to the side for safe-keeping.

It's Kent's hat. Well, the one he gave to Bitty in the beginning—gave him twice. Black all over, the stitching of the white spade on the front coming a little loose from where Bitty worries at it with his fingers in class.

He doesn't wear it as much, anymore. Mostly because he gets chirped to hell and back for it, and sometimes it makes Jack a little sad. But tonight…

 

~*~

 

“I  _ told  _ you we shoulda pregamed more,” Bitty says.

Kent laughs and presses a hand to the small of Bitty's back, steering him through the crowd. “Babe, I can afford the tab.”

Bitty says, “Only if we can get to the bar.”

Jack leans down to shout in Bitty's ear. “I'm getting a booth.”

“Okay, hun!” Bitty pats Jack's arm as he peels off, then stumbles into Kent's side when someone pushes past him. “Ugh,  _ rude.” _

Kent moves his hand to Bitty's hip, holding him there. “Ooh, you gonna fight someone tonight, babe?”

Bitty hops up onto a barstool with a dramatic sniff. He may not be drunk, but he's starting to feel the six pack he split with Kent and he's in a good mood.

“Keep up the chirpin’ and it'll be you,” he warns, raising his eyebrows playfully.

Kent dips in close, nipping at Bitty's earlobe, and growls in his ear.

Bitty clears his throat and crosses his legs. “Someone's rather forward tonight,” he says, looking around the club pointedly.

“It's packed in here,” Kent murmurs. He tugs the brim of Bitty's hat down over his eyes. “And not exactly a hockey joint. Let me live a little.”

“If you're sure,” Bitty tells him, but truthfully, he's not inclined to argue the point that hard. When else will they get to have this?

The bartender makes her way over just then, and Kent orders two rounds of shots, a mixed drink for each of them, and a water for Jack.

Bitty shoots him a skeptical look.

“What?” Kent asks, shrugging with one hand—the other is still around Bitty's waist. “Now we don't gotta order more later.”

“I'm dating a genius,” Bitty says dryly. 

They do both sets of shots at the bar and carry the drinks back with them, navigating through half the club before they find Jack in a booth in the corner. 

“Thanks,” he says when Kent puts the water down in front of him.

Kent winks at him and slides into the same side of the booth as Bitty, arm draped around his shoulders.

Jack narrows his eyes and leans across the table. “Parse, be careful.”

“Zimms.” Kent reaches for Jack's hand, but Jack pulls it away. “Don't worry so much, man.”

“Seriously?” Jack scoffs.

Bitty bites his lip, looking between them. He brushes a hand over Kent's knee, squeezing it gently.  _ Please don't. _

Kent squeezes Bitty's shoulder back and tells Jack, “Look, I didn't mean it like that. I just—look at this place. You really think someone's gonna look over and be like 'oh, those are  _ definitely  _ two professional athletes and they're  _ definitely  _ banging that hot blonde guy who's way outta their league?’”

“Thank you,” Bitty says primly.

Jack scrubs a hand over his face. He looks Kent in the eye and asks, “Is it worth betting on?”

“Yeah,” says Kent.

Jack leans back against the booth, apparently resigned.

Bitty sips on his vodka cranberry and watches the room for a while, happy to lean into Kent's side and let the alcohol kick in fuzzily. He hooks an ankle around Jack's calf and gets a tentative smile in return.

Then  _ Can't Feel My Face  _ comes on and Kent's hand flies over Bitty's wrist.

_ “Babe,”  _ he shouts, grinning like a little kid. “Babe, we gotta go dance please  _ please.” _

Bitty spares a parting glance at Jack, but he's already letting Kent pull him to the dance floor and stumbling into him with a laugh.

“Are you sure?” he's asking, but Kent is already kissing him, and—

They're grinding front-to-front, Bitty's hand clasped around Kent's neck and holding him down, the other slipping into the back pocket of his jeans, tasting the sparking artificial sweetness of rum and coke in his mouth. He can feel the beat reverberating in their teeth when Kent bites at his lip and he returns the favor, pushing onto his toes to put the pressure on.

And, God,  _ God,  _ it's like Bitty forgot how to be  _ alive.  _ Like this is the thing no one wanted him to have, the running and the sweat and the feeling like he could take up enough room to scream. 

Kent's dick, hard against his dick, hard. Hands that are too tight in hair. The song pounding in his head so loud that it's like Kent is singing it with his tongue tracing the backs of Bitty's incisors.

_ We both know we can't go without it. _

Bitty thinks, suddenly, about shame. The kind his mother has, the kind she wants for him—that he lives with, that Kent and Jack live with. She'd be ashamed of him, if she saw the particular kind of alive he was with Kent's thumb dragging across his mouth.

The song ends. He kisses Kent into the next one.

 

~*~

 

Bitty’s not sure how much later it is when they come up for air. He's panting, exhausted, and thoroughly drunk—and Kent looks about the same.

“Break?” Kent asks, still half-grinding against him.

Bitty says, “Yeah,” and tugs Kent back to their table by the hand.

Except, Lord, he must be  _ far _ drunker than he thought, because this isn't their booth. There're four girls in it, looking up at them expectantly.

Bitty drops Kent's hand self-consciously and says, “Oh, pardon us, wrong table.”

Kent stands on his tip-toes and scans the other booths. “Uh, Bits?”

“Yeah?” Bitty asks.

Kent turns the other way, trying to see across the room. “Where's Jack?”

One of the girls taps Bitty on the arm. “Are you looking for your friend?”

“Um.” Bitty glances at Kent and then back. “Yeah. Tall, dark hair and blue eyes?”

“He gave us this table!” the girl says. She frowns. “He seemed kinda mad.”

Kent says, “Shit.”

Bitty pulls out his phone; there are three missed texts from Jack in their group chat.

**_Jack <3 (11:48 PM): _ ** _ I got us a booth in the back, opposite side of the door. _

**_Jack <3 (12:37 AM): _ ** _ I'm going home. _

**_Jack <3 (12:38 AM): _ ** _ You're both being reckless and it needs to stop. _

It's almost two AM now. Bitty says, “Fuck,” and pulls Kent towards the door.

“Shit—my tab,” Kent tells him, veering back in the other direction.

Bitty leans against the bar and chews on his lip while Kent gets his credit card back, fingers hesitating as they hover over his phone.

**_Bitty (2:03 AM):_ ** _ Im so sorry honey we'll be home soon _

They rescue Kent's credit card and step into the night air. It's cooler than inside the club, but barely. 

“Motherfucker,” Kent is saying, angrily scrolling through his phone and pulling up Uber. “What the fuck is his—”

Bitty stills Kent's hand before he can order the car and gently suggests, “Why don't we take the walk, honey—cool off?”

Kent deflates, looking over at him for a long moment, and puts the phone away.

“Yeah,” he says, “okay.”

Bitty glances around—they're in a more of an urban area, but it's a peaceful night and not a terrible walk home. He slips his hand into Kent's and laces their fingers together, and they set off.

They don't talk much, but Bitty doesn't mind. He rests his head on Kent's shoulder as they stumble along, sobering up, and thinks...about how nice it is. Out for a walk with his boyfriend, not worrying too hard about if anyone is looking at them or snapping a picture. Like they're normal.

After a while they can hear the ocean again, and Bitty thinks more about Jack—wonders if he'll be awake, and upset—but there's nothing for it except to walk through the door.

Jack is in the living room reading. He turns a page with a little more force than necessary when Bitty and Kent stumble in and lock the door behind themselves.

“Zimms,” Kent says, and apparently runs out of words after that.

Jack shuts his book and stands up. “I'm glad you're safe. Let's go to bed.”

Bitty is perfectly happy with that plan, but Kent snorts and asks, “Seriously? That's it?”

“What,” Jack asks evenly, “were you hoping for a fight?”

“Yeah,” Kent snarks. “Kinda.”

Bitty tugs on Kent's sleeve and begs, “Don't.”

“You bailed on us like a total dick,” Kent accuses, taking a step away from Bitty. “And now you get to act like we're the assholes?”

Jack snaps, “You put us all at risk. Bittle isn't out either. Do you think he needs his face in the paper?”

“Don't talk about me like I'm not here,” Bitty protests.

Kent ignores him in favor of raising his voice. “Bitty was having  _ fun _ , Jack—and I  _ told  _ you it wasn't a big deal.”

“It's one to me,” Jack grits out. “Which you don't seem to care about. I  _ just  _ signed my contract, Kent, I can't afford—”

Kent pushes into Jack's space, cutting him off. “Well if Eric's so less important to you than your precious  _ career,  _ maybe you should—”

_ “Stop!”  _ Bitty shouts. 

They both turn to look at him in shock. He realizes, belatedly, that his hands are curled into fists.

“I can't—I can't—I can't do this,” he stammers, facing going hot. He's got no idea what he's saying except that it's pouring out of him and he's thinking about all the vodka he drank. “I'm so—so fucking  _ sick  _ of being caught in the middle of you, worrying what'll happen and having to take sides like I'm some—some  _ referee.” _

“Woah.” Kent turns, mouth gaping, and reaches for him. “Bits—”

Bitty flinches away. “I spend so much time worrying about keeping you both happy, watching you fight and always letting one of you down and makin’—making myself sick over it. Leave me outta it.”

They're all silent. Bitty feels hot tears roll down his cheeks and stubbornly ignores them.

“Okay,” Kent says. He glances over at Jack and then back at Bitty. “Okay—babe, we're sorry—we fucked up.”

Bitty locks eyes with Jack—who shakes his head speechlessly—and then turns on his heels and walks back out the door.

He nearly marches right into Val, who is standing at the top of their stairs with a worried look on her face.

“Oh, goodness, sorry,” she says, catching him by the shoulders. “I just—well, we thought we heard some shoutin’ and I thought I just might see if everyone's alright.”

Bitty laughs wetly. He looks back through the window, where he can see the vague outline of Jack moving away from the wall.

“Not exactly,” he admits, because there's no way to brush this one off. “But it'll work itself out.”

Val rubs his arms soothingly and offers, “You want some company while it...does that?”

It's probably better than being alone with his brain right now. Bitty nods gratefully and lets her lead him around to the back deck, leaning over the banister and staring in the direction of the water.

The moon isn't really bright enough to see it, but he knows that it's there.

Val, genuinely bless her heart, doesn't make him talk about it. He's not sure what he could possibly tell her, anyway, even if he were ready to. But she stays with him, for God knows how long, and lets him listen to the ocean.

“How old are you boys, anyway?” she asks eventually, long after Bitty's eyes have adjusted to the dark and he can make out the faint line of ocean against sand.

He laughs. “I'm twenty, ma'am.”

She hums, glancing at him thoughtfully. “Still young, but it never feels like it is, does it?”

“Sometimes it does,” Bitty says.

“Hold onto that,” she tells him, a teasing lilt coloring her voice. She stretches. “This old lady's gonna go to bed. You do the same?”

Bitty watches a wave foam up on the shore. 

“I'll wait for them,” he says softly. “They'll find me.”

Val pats his arm one last time and moves away, the old stairs protesting as she makes her way down, and then he's alone.

 

~*~

 

Bitty doesn't have to look up when the back door creaks open to know that it's Kent. He hears it in the footsteps, the quiet  _ 'hey’  _ in his ear as someone leans on the railing next to him.

“Hey,” he says back, throat dry from the salt air.

Kent watches him closely, a tentative, aching look in his eyes, and then follows his gaze out to the water.

“Some speech in there,” he tells him.

Bitty closes his eyes. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” Kent says. He shifts against the banister, angling towards Bitty. “But...it kinda freaked me out.”

Bitty opens his eyes and stares at the sand under their deck, swept up in miniature dunes against the stilts.

“That, like—you were feeling all that for so fucking long, and I didn't know.” Kent takes a deep breath, but his voice is still shaking. “It...makes me feel like you don't trust me.”

Bitty bites his lip.

Kent begs, “Please say something.”

“I didn't want to hurt you,” Bitty says. He tries to look up and can't. “I knew you were trying and I thought—”

“But I was thinking about it,” Kent cuts in, “and it's not the only thing. I mean, with the—the sex, you swerve on me every time I bring it up and—”

Bitty says quickly, “But I do want to.”

“It's just sex.” Kent looks over at him with a smirk, but it's sad around the edges. “And, I mean, I'm fine being the only one taking up the ass in this relationship if that's what you want.”

Bitty snorts and finally looks at him directly. “Honey, we both know Jack's even more of a bottom than you.”

“About that,” says Kent. He runs a hand through his hair. “We've been talking, and, uh—we feel like maybe it should be Bitty-and-Kent and Bitty-and-Jack. Not so much Bitty-and-Kent-and-Jack, if that makes sense.”

“Oh,” Bitty says. “Okay.”

“Maybe there's a Parse-and-Zimms again one day,” Kent continues, his voice sinking low and wistful. “But we've gotta get there on our own—for everyone's sake.”

Bitty closes his eyes over the aching of it, the thing splitting and restitching in his chest, and reaches blindly for Kent's hand. “Let's circle back for that.”

Kent laces their finger together and says, “But it's not actually the sex.”

“No,” Bitty agrees shakily. “Not really.”

“I'm trying so hard,” Kent begs, and the way his voice chokes up on the way out is like a sucker punch. “To be good for you—to take care of you—but it's like you won't let me.”

Bitty falls into Kent's chest all at once—can't hold himself up, anymore, and rip the truth out at the same time.

“I'm scared,” he whispers, eyes squeezed shut, Kent's hand cupping the back of his head. “Kenny, I'm—I'm so scared.”

Kent just holds him, breath held.

“Most of the time, before I met you, I felt...powerless.” Bitty nuzzles against the side of Kent's neck, trying to pick up the scent of faded cologne. He wants to be able to look at him and he can't. “Especially—before Samwell, but even there—I...I just, dated people my friends said I should date, had the kind of sex people said I should want.”

Kent kisses the tip of his ear. He's still barely breathing, but Bitty can feel the movement of his chest and looks up.

“And then I met you, and it was—I felt like I was in  _ control  _ of something,” he says, reaching up and touching Kent's cheek, tilting his face. The same, half-broken face it's always been. “And now that I have that, I—I'm terrified of giving it up.”

“Bits.” Kent covers Bitty's hand with his own, trembling with him. “I don't wanna take that away, that's not—the way I meant it.”

Bitty wipes at the tear in the corner of Kent's eye. “I know, honey, but I...since the—the breakup, I can't help thinking—and I forgive you, baby, I do, but I can't stop thinking about how so much of it was a—a lie, when I was—”

“Everything I wanted for you was real.” Kent presses into his hand, taking a half-step in. “Eric,  _ everything.  _ Everything I felt—”

“I know.” Bitty swallows, smiles faintly when Kent brushes the tears off his face, too. “I just need you to be patient with me.”

Kent dips down, pressing their foreheads together with a shaky breath, knocking Bitty's hat off in the process. His eyes are closed, and Bitty closes his too.

“I will, I promise,” Kent says. “But I need you to really try. Don't shut me out again, please.”

Bitty kisses him softly—a tender, shy thing. “I already have been, I swear. Sweetheart, please believe me.”

Kent says, “I do,” and then, “Hey, woah, it's okay, babe,” when Bitty hides his face in his neck again, shaking with fresh tears. “'Cause we don't have to hide it anymore, okay? We can talk about it.”

The waves crash on each other in the distance. Bitty listens to them, matches his breathing to the sound.

He whispers, “Are we gonna be okay?”

“Yeah,” Kent answers roughly. His hand is soothing in Bitty's hair, steady. “Yeah, 'course we are.”

_ I believe you.  _ Bitty kisses his neck, hands curling in the back of his shirt.  _ I believe you. _

The wind picks up around them, buffeting sand against Bitty's ankles and catching in their clothes. Bitty holds tight and thinks about all there is to tell—the shame, the hurt. That he's still afraid of being this happy.

None of it right now, but it will come. And then the door is creaking open again and Jack is stepping out onto the deck, and Bitty looks up with a watery smile as Jack touches his shoulder.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Bitty says, turning to pull Jack into a hug. “Are you okay?”

Jack kisses Bitty's temple, leans in, and murmurs, “I think I found it--the way.”

Bitty looks up at him, eyes shining, and has nothing to say.

They shift apart. Jack traces a hand down Kent's arm and nods towards the ocean.

Kent breathes out slowly, nodding back. His eyes follow Jack's silhouette as he makes his way down the stairs, out to the shore, and sits down in the sand. Waiting, for something.

Bitty rests his forearms on the banister again, asking softly, “Parse-and-Zimms, huh?”

“Yeah.” Kent mirrors him, gaze still cast on Jack's backlit figure in the distance. He huffs out a laugh. “If we can get through the summer without killing each other.”

Bitty's voice wobbles with conviction. “You will,” he says, his hand moving to rest over Kent's arm.

Kent hums, thoughtful. He looks at Bitty. “Guess I should join him.”

“Go on.” Bitty turns to him too, smiling. “I'll be waiting.”

Kent smiles back, then turns away. Bitty watches his face as the early morning starts to dawn, all the shadow and light.

“Scale of one to ten,” Kent asks in the last of the night air. “How much do you love me?”

Bitty reaches out to touch his cheek, shivering, saying softly, “Maybe that's not the question anymore.”

Kent turns his face, lips grazing the edge of Bitty's knuckles, and lets his eyes flutter shut.

“Yeah,” he says, and ducks down to grab the snapback off the ground as he goes. He turns it over in his hands thoughtfully—replaces it on Bitty's head, the motion the same after all this time, and tugs the brim down over his eyes.

Bitty watches him follow Jack's path down the stairs and boardwalk until his feet hit the sand, watches him say something that makes Jack look up before sitting down next to him. 

Kent tentatively leans over, as if in slow motion, and rests his head on Jack's shoulder.

There's a bloody tint to the horizon, melting into orange and gold, and the waves are visible again as they froth on the damp sand, well out of range of Kent and Jack's feet. Jack wraps his arm around Kent and pulls him closer.

They made it to sunrise.

**Author's Note:**

> Please check out the [awesome playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2FJj8CDwCKKh72M0Cqwnp6) that shipped-goldstandard made for this fic and cry with me about it. Also, check out her other playlists on [ her Tumblr.](https://shipped-goldstandard.tumblr.com/)
> 
> If you wanna scream with me about my love for all things PB&J (and especially Kent Parson), find me on [my Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/summerfrost) or [Tumblr!](https://www.yoursummerfrost.tumblr.com)


End file.
